


endurance

by lester_sheehan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark Swan, F/F, F/M, Swan Queen - Freeform, dark!swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lester_sheehan/pseuds/lester_sheehan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As she traipses to her bed, feet slow and movements weary, the small splatter of blood on her desk goes unnoticed.” </p><p>Everyone’s searching for a way to help Emma, but for Regina, something much worse lurks beneath the surface.</p><p>Eventual Swan Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s only when the first rays of morning light creep around her curtains that Regina’s eyes flicker to the clock. “ _Damn_ ”, she mutters, closing the book in front of her and shoving it to the floor. It lands with a rather inconspicuous thud, and she squints her eyes slightly at the sound. 

She rests her head on the table and stifles a groan. A hand runs through her hair, untangling any knots, pulling gently at the roots. She’s been searching for days, and to no avail. No information seems worth her time as she scours through book after book, flipping the pages violently, a constant scowl upon her face.

Regina sighs and shoves the remaining books to the floor, ignoring how the pages spill open and the spines crack with a vigorous sound. And then Robin’s at the door to her office, leaning against the frame with a faint smile on his lips, a glimmer of amusement. “So,” he says, “there isn’t, in fact, a war going on in here, as the crashing and banging may suggest.”

She glances up at him through tired eyes, sitting back in her chair and trying her hardest not to slouch. Her arms flop onto the side rests, all energy gone. “There’s nothing,” she states.

Robin shifts his gaze around the room, at the mess and disorder, before his eyes find their way back to Regina. “Perhaps you should take a break, love. Even the Queen needs to sleep sometimes. A minute or two will not deter your mission.”

“That’s exactly what it will do,” she snaps, staring at him as though he remains totally oblivious to the situation, as though he cannot understand the implications at all. “I’m sorry,” she says, expression softening. “I’m fine.” 

Robin nods and exits the room, leaving Regina a victim to the silence. She stays like that for a while, unmoving aside from the rise and fall of her chest, and the slight jostle in her leg that returns whenever she's frustrated. 

And as she traipses to her bed, feet slow and movements weary, the small splatter of blood on her desk goes unnoticed.

*

When she wakes, her pillow is covered in a sickly red and her nose feels blocked and _wrong_. She stumbles to the mirror, hand subconsciously raised. The entire lower half of her face is covered in blood, smeared down to her neck and creeping towards the collar of her shirt. 

Face locked in a frown, she touches her nose with a tentative finger, wincing at the sharp twinge of pain. She’s never experienced such a severe nosebleed before- not even when she was thrown off one of her younger horses, face colliding with a fallen tree, shards causing splinters in her cheek- and she certainly doubts she’d have one now. 

In the bathroom, she cleans herself up, ignoring how her heart quickens. Her hands quake softly as she dabs at the area around her nose, pressing lightly, fingers numb. She feels sick to her core. 

There’s a steady throbbing still residing in her mind as she wipes away the last of it.

It’s then that the doorbell rings. With a heavy sigh, and a glance in the hallway mirror, she hurries to the entrance. She rakes through her hair with her hands, trying to calm the mess surrounding her face, and groans in the realisation of what she’s still wearing, of how inappropriate her outfit is. (She’s never answered the door in her pyjamas, can still be found in pantsuits on her sickest of days.)

Peering through the hole in the door, she grimaces and swings it open with force. David and Snow stare back at her. As if her day couldn’t get any worse. 

“Regina! Hi,” Snow smiles, but her face darkens quickly. She doesn’t wait for an invitation, steps into the house. “Are you alright?”

Regina’s eyebrows raise. “I could ask you the same thing.” 

“She’s right,” David pipes up, edging closer. “Your eyes are all bloodshot.” 

Regina hastily steps back, tucking her reddened sleeve behind her. “And yours are still in my house.” 

“Are you deflecting?” Snow accuses. 

“I think she is,” David says, sweeping a gaze to his wife. 

Snow tilts her head to the side, and Regina recoils at her puppy-dog stare. “What’s wrong?” 

Regina can’t stand it any longer. “What’s wrong is that you two _idiots_ are in my hallway, standing far too close for anyone’s liking. Speak or leave,” she says, snarling the last sentence. 

Snow and David stare at her, dumbstruck. “We just wondered whether you’d tried these books,” Snow says, motioning to her bag.

*

The next time something happens, she’s at a council meeting. With Emma gone, Regina has no choice but to talk to the town: explain what’s happened, relay their next move. She’s spoken to the people of Storybrooke many times before, but never has her stomach twisted at the thought. She wonders whether they already know what occurred that night, whether they blame her for the saviour’s disappearance. She wonders how they look at her, how she’s seen in their eyes- something she hasn’t cared about in a long while. 

As she walks up to the podium, her mind spins slightly, vision blurring at the edges. Drawing her left hand into a fist, undetectable to everyone else in the room, she tries to put right what has somehow gone wrong. 

She takes in a deep breath, and then lets it out. 

The speech goes as well as it ever could. Regina simply imparts what she’d written the night before, not thinking about the words that leave her mouth. She keeps her eyes focused ahead, face hard, as she reassures those standing before her that the very best is being done. If it wasn't for the fact that her brain recoiled with each small movement, she'd grimace at how... _pathetic_ , it all sounded.

Somewhere near the end, she notices Snow eyeing her with an expression she can’t quite place. Her eyebrows are furrowed, face full of concern. She turns and whispers something to Charming, causing him to sigh deeply and lean just a little closer to the stage. 

Regina inwardly rolls her eyes at the scene before her, wishing nothing more than for the pair to leave the room, to continue their strange (and quite frankly, _irritating_ ) behaviour elsewhere. But it’s at this moment that a burning desire to cough rises in her chest. It pulls at her insides, as though the motion is tearing the lining of everything she is, ripping her apart.

She doesn’t make it off the stage. 

At the top of the steps leading down, she stops. Despite all her efforts, she can’t resist the scorching pain in her throat as she splutters into her hand. Red fills her palm, trickling over the edge and falling in a steady _drip… drip… drip..._ to the floor. 

She hears the strangled voice of Snow and footsteps pounding her way, the sounds a thousand times louder, twisting like screws in her brain. Before they can reach her, she gives a flick of her wrist, and suddenly she’s alone in her bedroom once more. 

*

When Snow finds her, she’s sitting on the edge of her bed, gaze focused on something far outside the window. Hearing the girl behind her, Regina closes her eyes and breathes, “Go away, Snow.” 

“We wanted to check you were okay after… well, you know.” Her voice is cautious and far too caring. It makes Regina feel sick, stirs an ache in her stomach that she can’t brush away. 

“I’m fine,” she says, turning to face her. “How did you get in?”

Snow gives a sheepish smile and holds out her palms. “You left the door unlocked.”

The silence that next fills the room is deadly. It creeps around them both, mushrooming out around their figures, but if Snow thinks that it will get Regina to talk, she’s about to find out just how wrong she is. 

Moments pass. The clock on the wall moves round. 

“Look, Regina,” Snow starts again, and Regina chuckles darkly at the girl’s insistence. “What _was_ that?”

“What it was, is none of your business,” she says, but it lacks the usual malice. Throwing her hands up slightly, eyebrows raised in frustration: “Food poisoning, lack of sleep… I don’t know.” It's not a lie.

Snow edges closer. “Perhaps you should-"

“Perhaps you should leave.” 

And so she does. 

*

As time passes, the people of Storybrooke seem to forget about their Mayor’s worrying display. Snow stops mentioning it after the previous ordeal, and David follows suit. Regina is simply glad to know that Henry remains none the wiser, though she’d have bet her last penny that Snow would crack, spill it all over morning coffee. 

They’re sitting in the Charming’s loft room- or, at least, Snow, David and Hook are; Regina remains leant against the kitchen counter, one heel crossed over the over- when Henry arrives home. “Mum?” he questions, eyeing the busy room with caution. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, dear,” Regina smiles, walking towards her son. She places two hands on his shoulders and kisses his forehead. “We’re just discussing Emma.” Her voice is gentle, pleading. She prays he doesn’t question further. 

His eyes light up with excitement, causing a queasy sickness to develop in her stomach. “You’ve found something out?”

“No, I didn’t- we don’t know,” she sighs. “Belle may have found something, but it could very well be another dead end.” She can’t help the bitterness in her voice. It seems to be following everyone lately. They’re all tired of how little they know, their lack of usefulness. 

The glow leaves his eyes as quickly as it entered. “Oh.” 

“I’m sorry, Henry,” she says. Her arms reach out to pull him into her embrace, but he steps back. A small sound leaves Regina’s mouth before she can stop it. It’s almost inaudible, yet somehow, it manages to feel deafening. 

“Henry, I-” she starts, but Snow steps in. 

“We’ve all been trying really hard, Henry, but this is tricky magic we’re dealing with. We’ll find Emma soon, don’t you worry.” 

Henry nods and gives a faint smile- a lump forms in Regina’s throat at how forced it feels- before leaving the room. 

Regina remains standing there, arms achingly empty at her sides. She straightens her back and clears her throat, but it doesn’t shake the feeling of everyone’s eyes on her, watching her every move. “Right, then,” she says, as though nothing had happened. She fixes her skirt with hands that shake just a little too much. “Which of you spoke to Belle?”

“Regina,” Snow ventures. 

“Which of you spoke to Belle?”

*

“Snow told me what happened,” Robin says later that night. Regina’s sitting at one end of her sofa, feet curled beneath her body. Her heels are kicked off before her, and a glass of wine is held tightly in her hand. The fire roars silently.

She swirls the liquid slowly before replying, watching as the drink slops against the sides. “Mm,” she says, with an expression that, no matter how hard he tries, Robin cannot read.

“I’m sure the boy didn’t mean anything by it, love,” he assures, taking a seat next to her- not too close, he makes sure of that, but enough for him to feel the way her chest shakes with each breath, and to feel the sofa move slightly as she lifts her arm for another sip. “We are all rattled by these events.”

This time, she doesn’t reply, and fighting every urge in his body, Robin doesn’t force her to. She continues to stare at the flames long after he leaves. Long after the wine is gone and the events of the day are clouded and hazed. 

She wakes in the same position, glass gone from her hands and shattered on the floor.

*

The scent of apples and cinnamon fill the air, leaving no area of the kitchen untouched.

Regina’s putting a pie in the oven when her hand slips, the tray falling from her grasp. Heaving an exasperated sigh, she curses beneath her breath and tries to gather up as much as she can. Only once she’s entirely certain that the mess is unsalvageable, she turns to grab a dustpan and brush. 

This time when she leans down, she can’t stop the hands that clutch at her stomach, an agonizing throbbing spreading through her gut. She hisses at the sudden onslaught of pain, clutching the handle with a hold tight enough to kill. 

Pushing herself up, reaching for the kitchen counter, her legs refuse to work as she wants them to. She teeters on her heels- something she’s only done once before, and even then she’d had a little more drink than she’d like to admit- and stumbles sideways. She’s lucky, Regina notes, that her hand manages to clasp the worktop in time. Pie is one thing. Cleaning up blood is considerably more work. 

Then she hears a latch unlock, an extended “Mum?” echoing throughout the house. Regina glances upwards, closing her eyes in disbelief, before the kitchen door swings open; God only knows how awful she must look. “Mum?” Henry repeats again, but this time the word is laced in worry. As her son rushes towards her, all previous contempt gone, she almost doesn’t feel the pain anymore. Or, at the very least, she no longer cares.

“Are you okay?” he says, frantically. “Wait here- or would the sofa be best? I’ll call Mary Margaret and David.” He moves in the direction of the phone.

“No!” she says, more forcefully than she’d intended. A hand stretches out towards him, beckoning him closer. She plasters a smile on her face and pushes away from the counter. A bead of sweat trickles down her forehead, but she dares not wipe it away, silently hopes it goes unnoticed. “It’s nothing, Henry, honestly. I just got a little out of breath. How else do you think this kitchen remains so spotless?” She brushes a strand of hair from his face.

His eyes narrow, forehead creased, as a slow, “Okay,” escapes his lips. He sounds uneasy, and she knows that he knows she’s lying. His gaze flits to the mess on the floor, the scattered crumbs and fragments that she hadn’t quite finished disposing of. “Spotless, huh?” he grins and it sends Regina back several years, to times when he’d hide homemade presents beneath her pillow and sneak cookies from the jar.

She ruffles the hand already atop his head, taking a moment to revel in just how tall he’s grown. “It’s getting there,” she says, with a scrunch of her nose. 

*

She doesn’t get to sleep that night. Instead, she lies in her bed, staring at the ceiling, drawing blanks in her mind. 

Despite her protests, Henry had helped her clear the kitchen. After finishing up and grabbing as many snacks as Henry’s arms could carry, the pair retreated to the living room in a comfortable silence. They watched a film, Regina’s arm thrown around his shoulder, and enjoyed the simplicity of such an instance.

It was nice, the memory causing a flicker of a smile to dance across her lips. The pain subsided roughly halfway through, and although she knew he would never truly stop worrying, she was glad to see that his mind was distracted. That the thought of Emma didn’t haunt him quite so much in that moment. 

But now, as she gazes into the encroaching darkness, room lit by no more than the thin veil of moonlight, she feels suffocated by knowledge she doesn’t yet have. Knowledge of Emma, of the Robin situation- she can’t stop the guilt she feels at the distance she’s created-, of this newfound _illness_ that seems to have stricken her. She could laugh at the irony of it all. At how she’s come so far yet barely moved at all. 

Her mind drifts to the constant ache and lack of coordination, the blood that seems to appear at the most uncooperative of times. She knows that she should talk to someone, doubts whether she could bear to see their fretful faces. Just the thought makes her want to claw her eyes out. 

It’s only when she wakes covered in a damp, sickly sweat, arising from a half-sleep that she never quite settled into, that she decides enough is enough. Sticking to the bed sheets, she rolls over, gasping for air. It can’t seem to reach her lungs fast enough. 

Flecks dance across her vision, pulsating in brightness, like stars on a distant background. They roll across her line of sight, shifting everything slightly out of focus. Her mouth is dry, dryer than it’s ever been, and- _God_ , where is the pain even coming from anymore? 

She can’t think, can’t pinpoint the exact moment that she decides to lean over and struggle for her phone. It almost falls off the cabinet, and she feels a wave of relief rush over her once it’s secured in her palm. She stares at the blur of numbers, realises that she has no idea what she’s doing. _Who would she call?_

With a slight grunt of frustration, she lets her hand fall onto the pillow beside her. She’s survived worse. She’s done worse. She can deal with a little ache, a spot of blood.

And then the second wave hits. Leaning over the edge of her bed, she retches, a nauseating and viscous liquid seeping into the carpet. The smell is overpowering, the pain all-encompassing, and she knows that if she ignores it now, she’ll only have herself to blame. 

Every movement, every breath, brings another jolt of agony, and she feels as though she’s been nailed to a metal post in a lightning storm. She has fire running through her veins, her skin ablaze. She doesn’t remember reaching for the phone this time. Doesn’t remember finding the number, letting it ring. 

And she doesn’t remember who picks up.


	2. Chapter 2

As the first inkling of consciousness begins to rouse her from sleep, Regina feels as though her body is numb. She wants desperately to open her eyes, to know exactly what’s happened, but she’s so sore and still hurting, and nothing seems to work as she wants it to. 

A coolness coats her brow, despite the rising heat beneath the skin, and her confusion is only perpetuated by the expansive darkness. A small moan escapes her lips, barely audible, as she forces her eyes to open and her body to sit up. From her forehead, a damp cloth falls to the floor. 

Two small hands grip her shoulders, urging her to lay back down. She resists for as long as she can, still adjusting to the light, before letting them guide her back to the pillow. As her vision clears and dim shapes become objects, she stares up at Snow’s worried face.

Charming stands beside her, arms crossed- Regina shudders at the thought of them finding her- and a curious expression clouds his gaze. She wants the Earth to swallow her whole. 

“Get your hands off me, Snow,” she says, though it sounds nowhere near as threatening as she’d intended. Her voice cracks on the last word and she winces at how weak it makes her, how frail she sounds. The Evil Queen resorted to a stumbling, derisible mess. The Evil Queen, broken.

“You’re hurt, Regina. You need to rest, to heal.” 

“I said, get your hands off me.” She’s angrier at herself than them, but it doesn't stop the snarl in her voice or how she’s almost glad when Snow recoils as though she’s been burnt. 

She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, gripping the cover covertly as her head spins. Her stomach churns and she takes a moment to steady herself, pushing away David’s lingering arms with force. 

Standing, she suddenly feels small without her heels- which, she notices, are halfway across the room- and straightens her back with a slight hiss. She grits her teeth as she makes her way to the kitchen counter, leaning against it in her usual spot. The surface is stable, and most of all _cold_ , and it offers a slight relief. 

When she finally meets their eyes, she regrets ever looking up, can almost feel the pity radiating from the pair. But it’s more than that; there’s something else there.

Regina tries to think back to last night, tries to remember exactly what happened, but all she can recollect is the searing pain, the ghastly nausea that gripped her. She winces at the thought of her carpet, wants to die at the realisation of the Charmings turning up. 

“What did I do?” she sighs. 

Snow looks almost scared to answer, voice slow. “You called, and when we found you, Regina, you weren't even conscious. Blood was everywhere. What happ-”

At this, Regina scoffs, cutting the girl off before she can go any further, the motion burning her throat like sandpaper. The resentment doesn't go unnoticed as, with a sarcastic smile and tilt of her head, she repeats, “I called _you_?” 

“You called Emma.”

And despite her ever believing it possible, the tension in the room increases ten-fold. She drops her eyes, forehead creased, and glares at the floor. When she next speaks, it’s bitter and cold and somehow, it makes her feel at home. “I don’t think I even knew who I was calling.” 

“Who knows why you did what you did,” David says, stepping in, “but either way, it’s beside the point.” His voice is gentle, virtually calming, but it doesn’t stop her.

Pushing off the counter, she gives a sharp, “I don’t have to listen to this,” and makes her way to the door. She stumbles as she gets closer, locks her hand tight around the handle. Taking a moment to breathe, she turns the latch. 

And it’s only later that she realises how foolish she was. When have the Charmings ever given up so easily? And so it comes as no surprise when she hears, “Forgetting something?” 

She shouldn’t turn around, shouldn’t give him the satisfaction. But she’s tired and worn (and maybe even a little delirious), so she does.

David has her heels dangling from one hand- Regina has to remind herself why she didn’t kill him when she had the chance- and a smirk on his face. Snow doesn't share his amusement, yet doesn’t speak up. Instead, she stands silently, worrying her hands and fiddling with the hem of her shirt, something Regina knows she’s done since her youth. 

But, for perhaps the first time in her life, Regina doesn’t want to fight. Not when the thought of her own bed sounds infinitely more appealing, and just holding the doorknob makes her hand ache. So she simply stares at David, a deadpan expression plastered on her face (it takes all of her energy to keep it there) and leaves the room. 

This time, they don’t stop her.

*

A few days pass before Regina leaves the house again. She tells Henry that she has a cold- that she refuses to walk around town with a red nose and a hitch in her voice- and he accepts the excuse gracefully, whether he believes it or not. 

She spends her time cleaning and drinking and flipping through all of the books she hasn’t yet read, still looking for any information that she can find. She tells herself that she doesn’t care about the saviour; Emma can remain the Dark One for eternity if she so wishes. Quite far from it, in fact, for her only reasoning is Henry. She can’t bear to see the sadness in his eyes any longer, wishes that she could take the burden upon herself and set him free. 

But there’s no spell in the world for that.

She barges into Gold’s shop at precisely 1 o’clock, a time specifically selected for Henry to be at school, and the Charming’s too busy with a crying child to notice. 

Belle’s standing behind the desk, staring intently at a collection of paperwork. At Regina’s entrance, she glances up, face immediately hardening. “How can I help you?”

“Where’s Gold?” Regina says, stalking towards the back of the shop. 

Belle blocks her way and Regina laughs, the sound both bitter and amused, as she stares down at the girl. “He’s resting. The last thing he needs is to see you.” Her accent is accentuated by how determined she is, but in the end it gets her nowhere.

With a flick of her wrist, Belle’s thrown aside- lightly, but only because magic drains her nowadays- and Regina storms into the back room in a flurry of black. If it wasn’t for the fact that she’d spent the morning trying not to throw up, she’d happily never see the imp again. 

“Gold,” she says (almost shouts) as she carefully stalks towards the bed. It’s minute and she knows it must hardly be comfortable, yet she supposes it’s only what he deserves. She smiles at the way he starts, hand raised, upon seeing her. 

“And to what do I owe you the pleasure?” he mumbles.

Regina chuckles mockingly and says, “I have a favour to cash in.”

“Look at me. What do you think I can possibly do to help you?” He’s tired, aged, wants nothing more than for her to leave. 

She shoves a vial in his direction, so forcefully that he can’t help but take it. Inside, a red liquid sloshes against the glass, shaking in his grip. “It’s my blood,” she says. 

“Wonderful, dearie, but I would have preferred a new car.”

“Don’t make me regret this, Gold.” Her face darkens as she draws her hands together in front of her. “I don’t know if you’ve heard while you’ve been cramped up in here,” she says, glancing around the room with a distasteful scrunch of her nose, “but I’ve been experiencing some… trouble.”

He doesn’t speak, just smiles up at her with infuriating calmness. Regina heaves an exasperated sigh, raising her arms before letting them fall to her sides. “I’ve been coughing up blood, amongst other things, and a day doesn’t go by that my body doesn’t feel like it’s disintegrating.” Her voice is unfaltering- terrifying- as she says, “What is it?”

“My, my,” Gold taunts, staring at the blood inquisitively. “I suppose that is a problem.”

“Cut the crap, Gold.” 

He turns to her, taking in how her shoulders slump and the redness around her eyes deepens. “I’ll see what I can do.”

*

When Henry returns from school, he finds her in the living room, old scrolls and spell-books splayed out across the floor. She’s glowering at one closely, fingers crumpling the edges. 

“Mum, what’s all this?” he says, leaning down to collect a waned and withered page. The writing is incomprehensible, a forgotten language, and he puts it back down with a defeated expression. “You know I can’t read it.”

She glances up at his voice, face breaking into a smile. “You’re home early.”

“It’s 3 o’clock. What have you been…” he trails off, worry etched into his features. “Have you been sitting here all day?”

“Three-” her eyes widen before she gives a small cough and meets his stare. “Of course I haven’t, Henry, but you know how it is.” She motions to the mess surrounding her. “It’s a lot to get through.”

He throws his bag on the sofa- earning a look from Regina, which he fully ignores- and moves to sit next to her on the floor. She places an arm around his waist and draws him in, embracing the scent of his hair and the warmth that he radiates. 

“What’s going on, Mum?” He says it so earnestly that she almost tells him. “Is it to do with Emma?”

“Yes, dear. It turns out Belle’s supposed dead end was just as we expected. Exactly that.”

He mumbles something and makes a sound of agreement before standing. “I’ll get us both sandwiches,” he says, heading for the kitchen, and the sentiment glazes over Regina’s eyes. 

Looking back at her book, her eyes linger on the words that have been concealed by spots of blood. She rips the page out violently, tearing it from the spine, and within her palm, a flame bursts forth. The paper crumples into dust.

She makes sure to hide the sheets before he returns. 

*

“Have you told him?”

“Told who?”

Snow sighs and shakes her head softly. “Robin. Have you told him what’s been happening?”

Regina stops fiddling with the lasagne she’s making, takes a moment to glance up from the pan. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. Clenching her jaw, she goes back to her work. “No.” 

“Oh, Regina.” 

She looks up again, knife waving in the air. “ _What?_ ”

Snow stares at her for a while, head tilted to the side. She moves across the kitchen until she’s within a foot’s distance, and smiling gently, she takes the knife from Regina’s grasp. She puts it on the counter and holds Regina’s hands within her own. “You should let him know.”

And then she drops them, letting them hang at Regina’s sides, and with a small nod, leaves the room. Regina gapes at the doorway, frozen to the spot. It takes her a while to gather her senses, and once she has, she wishes she’d withdrew her hands faster. 

She won’t talk to Robin.

And she can’t quite look Snow in the eyes after that.

*

“It’s poison,” Gold says, voice steady. Regina swears she sees the creases at his eyes deepen. “You’ve been poisoned.”

Now that he’s standing, no longer bed-ridden, there’s something more threatening about the way that he stares at her. “That’s ridiculous,” she brushes away, not even considering the notion. “You’ve clearly gone wrong somewhere.”

“I may have lost my magic, but I still have connections, and trust me, dearie, you do not want to ignore this.” 

She narrows her eyes, pointing a finger. “If you’re lying to me, _imp_ -”

“Oh, don’t worry. I know full well what you can do.”

His lack of fight, deficiency of snarky comebacks and the slight darkness in his eyes, draws her attention. He looks at her sombrely, almost tenderly, and she hates it. “What kind of poison?” she snarls. 

It seems like forever before he responds.

“One that’s gone too far.”

*

She leaves the shop in a flood of pent-up wrath and fury. It’s been far too long since she’s taken it out on something. All she’s sure of is that she can’t move any faster towards Zelena’s cell, is growing increasingly frustrated by how little magic she can take. 

When she swings the door open, Zelena glances up and smiles. It’s maddening and so infuriatingly insincere that Regina can’t wait to distinguish it. “Ah, is it family day already?” Zelena grins, clasping her hands together tight.

Regina doesn’t answer, but that doesn’t mean that she refuses to retaliate. With one small movement, Zelena’s gasping for air, fingers clawing at her throat. “Did you do this?” Regina demands, and when there’s no response, she only squeezes tighter.

“Do what?” Zelena breathes as Regina loosens her hold. She regrets doing it instantly. As the adrenaline slips away, the weariness takes over, and she struggles to stand upright. Her hands shake for reasons far more worrying than anger, and her breathing turns ragged and raw. 

“Oh,” Zelena says, the leer returning to her face. 

“ _Oh_?”

“Well, I mean, after a while I just assumed it hadn’t worked but really, sissy, this is all too brilliant. You must have resisted it for quite a while.” She pauses. “How admirable.” 

“How do I undo it?” Regina says, and for a split second, something other than glory flashes across Zelena’s face. 

She’s silent for a while. 

The cell feels smaller than it ever has. 

“You can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be in two parts, but after realising that I had much more to say, I think it will end up in three.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the one where Emma finally makes an appearance.

That night, Regina swears that she feels her insides falling apart. She’s grown used to the pain, the fevers and the blood, yet in the darkness and solitude of her bedroom, it all seems amplified. 

She flips her pillow over, desperate for something cool, before launching out of bed and scouring her closet for a fan. As she bends down, throwing aside boxes and old forms, her stomach feels as though it’s collapsing inwards; she feels as though she’s dying. 

A thousand arrows would hurt less. 

Her knees buckle and she grabs the closet door for support, but it doesn’t hold out long, isn’t enough to help her. Another hand shoots to her forehead, needing to quench the pain, but all it meets is an unforgivable sweat and damp, flattened hair. 

A droplet trickles down her forehead and lands on her neck, like rainfall against a pond. She scrapes it away with shaking fingers, nails digging into her skin. They leave red marks wherever they touch, as though laced with the loosest of dyes. 

The last thing she sees before she falls is her hand slipping slowly from the door, the screeching sound of skin against wood ringing in her ears. 

*

“Regina.” The sound is sharp, a whip amongst the silence. Regina opens her eyes, feels the carpet against her cheek. It’s rougher than usual, her skin sensitive to the slightest of touch. She lulls her head to the left, facing the ceiling, counting to ten before attempting to move.

“Regina.” She hears the sound again: is certain that it’s real, can’t work out where it’s coming from. Every breath that she takes feels like shattered glass and fractured mirrors. Every movement feels like a bullet to the flesh. 

She feels a grip on her upper arm, leans into it. It’s all that’s keeping her grounded, conscious. The temptation to absolve herself, sink into the emptiness, gets stronger with each second; she’s fighting a war she wants no stake in. 

A part of her brain is telling her to get up, to withdraw from the touch. She doesn’t want to be rescued, protected. She can save herself. But the rest? It just wants the pain gone.

She opens her mouth, tries to ask who’s there, but the sound that comes out is unintelligible. She wonders whether they understand her question, or whether they’re too stupid to realise that she wants to be left alone. She may not be able to string together a coherent thought, but somewhere inside of her, she still manages to feel shame. 

_What must she look like?_

The hand on her arm shakes her gently. “It’s me,” a voice says. Upon reflection adds, “It’s Emma.” There’s silence for a while, or at least Regina thinks there is. She wonders how much she’s truly hearing and how much her mind is blocking out. “God, Regina, please say you’re okay.” 

“Miss Swan,” she mumbles, voice breaking on the last word. “What are you-?”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Her hand is still there- Regina can feel it faintly- but this time, it remains still. “I’m back,” Emma says, and she can almost hear the smile in her voice. 

And then the world turns upside down and the sound is lost. Her touch is gone too, so Regina pictures it instead, pretends that she can feel the rush of blood and tender hold. A small part of her knows that she’ll regret it later. Regret being so vulnerable and open. Regret the way she gave in to Emma’s kindness. 

But most of all, she regrets that she’ll regret it. 

*

The faint clamour of noise is enough to bring her to her senses. She sits upright, and this time no one stops her. The pain has lessened, clearing her head of all delusion. Although her limbs ache and her forehead throbs, for the most part, she’s okay. 

The first thing she notes is that she’s still in her house, except now she’s on the sofa. Snow, David and Emma stand to the side, talking in hushed whispers about _whether they should get Gold_ and _how long has she been acting like this?_

Regina rubs her temple and wipes under her eyes. “Since when was my house up for rent?” she says. All heads turn to look at her, faces coated in concern, stress, and- relief? 

“You’re up,” Snow exhales, as though she’s been holding her breath for hours. 

“Yes, it appears I am.”

Emma’s the first to step forward, hands held out warily. “We’re just trying to help.”

Regina tips her head back with a small, yet blatantly hostile, chuckle. “I think that’s far beyond your capability.” Her expression settles into one of curiosity. “And just what, Saviour, are you doing back here?” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Regina sees Snow tug on David’s arm, pulling him relentlessly from the room. She smirks at how easily he follows, how love-sick the boy clearly is. 

“Considering I just saved your ass,” Emma grins, “I think you can afford to play nice.” 

Regina rolls her eyes, straightening the creases in her pyjama bottoms. “Fair point,” she says, and it almost sounds amused.

With a sigh, Emma all but jumps onto the sofa next to her- she chooses to ignore Regina’s snide ‘make yourself at home’- and leans back against the cushions. “I was sort of trapped for a while,” she says, as casually as one might order a drink. “It was like I could catch glimpses of things, but nothing stayed. The minute I returned to Storybrooke, I knew something was wrong, and well… I ended up at your door. Not that you replied, of course, seeing as… you know, you were busy passing out.” 

Regina shoots her a glare, but she continues undeterred. “Anyway, I came in to make sure everything was okay- which, despite how creepy it sounds, I guess was the right thing to do- and when I saw you lying there, I rang David.” She shrugs her shoulders. “What is it then? I can tell that you know.” 

“And yet you can’t use your newfound abilities to find out?” Regina retorts.

Emma drops her gaze. “It kinda felt like intruding. Though if you don’t tell me, I’ll obviously have no choice.”

“So this is my ultimatum? Your threats didn’t get any better with darkness, I see.” Regina raises her eyebrows, expecting a come-back, but Emma just looks on sadly. 

“I suppose they didn’t.”

*

“Poison?” Emma’s mouth gapes open the minute the word leaves Regina’s lips. After earning a scowl from Regina, followed by a ‘don’t act so surprised’, she adds in a softer tone, “By who?”

“Who do you think, Dark One?” She draws the name out like a trail of smoke. When Emma stares at her blankly, she groans and spits, “Zelena.” 

Shaking her head slowly, Emma lets out a weighted breath. “That is pretty damn low, even for her.” 

“I can’t disagree.” 

“So what are we gonna do?”

Regina looks at her inquisitively. “ _We_ are doing nothing. There’s no cure, I’ve looked.” Her eyes drop to her hands as she fiddles with the strap of her watch. “Now we just see what happens.” 

Emma’s eyes darken, and for a moment, Regina is taken aback. “So you’re just going to take your chances? See if you curl over and die? What about Henry?” 

The mention of his name causes Regina to sit forwards, elbows resting on her knees. “Where is he? Did he see-”

“No. He’s fast asleep upstairs.”

It’s silent for a while and then: “Do Snow and David know?”

“They know that I’ve been having… issues.”

“That’s one hell of a way of putting it,” Emma breathes. “Dare I even ask about Robin?” 

The look on Regina’s face says it all. “We’ve been distant,” she says, as though it offers all the explanation needed. 

“Distant?”

Regina stands up from the sofa so suddenly that for a moment, Emma worries she’ll fall. “Did you stay here to talk about boys, Miss Swan, or do you- by some rare chance- have any idea that may help?” She knows that she hardly looks threatening, face bare and wearing only silk pyjamas, but she’s frustrated and tired of waiting around, and maybe, just maybe, she needs something else to focus on. 

“You’re going to tell them,” Emma says, and it’s more of a command than a request. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Snow, David… Robin, if you want to… you’re going to tell them.” 

It’s at this that Regina has had enough. Mouth slightly agape, she says, “I don’t have to do anything, Miss Swan.”

And then in an instant, Emma’s in front of her, standing so close that Regina can hear each breath she takes and feel the steady beating from her chest, feel the warmth from her skin like a flame. “I think you do… Madame Mayor.” 

Regina scoffs at the name, turning her head slightly, but Emma stops her, one hand on her cheek. “Tell them,” she says once more. 

And then she’s gone. 

*

“Is everything alright down here? We heard-” Snow stops at the doorway, hand on the frame. “Where’s Emma?” she says, and her voice is so fearful that Regina almost shakes her head at the stupidity of it all.

“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you mean,” she says, letting out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. 

David appears from behind Snow, one arm locked around her waist. “So she just… left?”

“Well she’s not hiding behind my curtains, Charming, though you’re free to check.” 

Snow frowns and Regina glances around the room, refusing to meet her eyes, looking for any distraction. “Regina, is everything okay?”

She shifts her gaze to the sofa, to the indent where Emma lounged five minutes before. Thinks back to how close she was, how intimate the moment felt. When she next speaks, it comes out as more of a sigh than a word, as though she’s exhaling much more than just air. 

“No.”

*

“I really think we should stay,” Snow says, eyeing the door reluctantly. 

“It’s four in the morning.”

“What if something happens?” 

“It won’t.” She’s exhausted and her limbs ache and if Regina has to listen to Snow gasp one more time… well, let’s just say that she’d wish for the poison to hurry up. In a way, she misses David’s looks of contempt and distrust. They’re better than the ones she’s receiving now. 

“If anything happens,” Snow starts- David leans forward with a, ‘She really means anything.’-“call us.” 

Regina doesn’t reply but gives a curt nod, and for them, it’s enough. 

As Snow exits the room, David turns around and watches as Regina pours herself another drink. “I’ll do anything I can,” he says.

Regina’s fingers curl tighter around the glass. “Thank you.”

*

She’s sitting in the garden, staring up at the sky, when the rain begins. She tuts and downs the last of her wine, rising instantly from the chair. 

It’s getting lighter now, and soon people will be waking up, going about their days in the same way they always have. Red streaks line the skyline as the sun rises, stretching above the earth like blood-soaked talons. Dark clouds linger here and there, shadow-like figures against the bright of day. 

She sighs as the movement causes her limbs to ache and falter, running a hand along her stomach. As she goes to take another step, the empty glass falls to the floor, and she stares at her hand as though it committed the greatest of sins. Her breath hitches and she can hear her heartbeat in her ears, pounding like a snare drum. 

She glances up at the house, at Henry’s bedroom, knowing that at any moment, he’ll come heading downstairs. Struggling, she manages to make it forward, but the step is her downfall. Gripping anything within distance for support, she tries to will her body to move, but her foot slips and she stumbles, landing on the concrete with a force that resonates through her. 

Resting her head against the column, she sits there for a while. The rain continues to fall, trickling off her skin and seeping through her clothes. She focuses on it, tries to think of the cool wetness and the gale that sweeps through her hair. It picks up strands, swirling them around her face like flakes in a blizzard, but she hasn’t the energy to move them aside. 

She feels like hell incarnate. 

And as she lowers her head, pressing it harder against the marble, she notices the pool of red building up in her lap. Blood mixes with rainwater, sweat with shivers, and her minds feels so far gone that she isn’t entirely sure she’s there anymore.

Wiping her sleeve beneath her nose, she knows that she’s only spreading it, that the rainwater is hardly helping to wash it away. She needs to stand, go inside, warm up before Henry sees her. But she can’t. 

And that’s when Emma appears, knees bent, leaning down so that their faces are at the same level. Regina glances up slowly, barely able to lift her eyelids, head still tilting towards the ground.

Emma’s eyes are full of helplessness as she says, “What can I do?” 

*

As the pair stumble into the house, Emma’s arm wrapped around Regina’s waist, Regina can’t help but think of the time she saved her from the fire, long before they were even on civil ground. She wonders just how many times Emma has saved her life, wonders whether this will be the last. 

“Mum?” Henry stops at the bottom of the stairs. He looks at them both, from one to the other. His mouth opens as though to speak, eyes transfixed on Emma’s, but then he runs over and throws Regina’s other arm around his shoulder, sharing her weight. 

“Hey, kid.” Emma smiles but it’s strained, said through gritted teeth and locked jaws. “Your mum’s gonna be alright. I’ll explain everything later. Just help me get her to the sofa, yeah?” Honestly, she could do it herself with ease, but giving Henry something to do stops him questioning. 

Once Regina’s lying down, inarticulate and breathing slow, Henry turns to Emma. “I don’t know how you’re back,” he says, “but we _need_ to help her.” He flings his arms around her waist, hugging her tight, before pulling back and sitting on the floor beside the sofa. 

Emma pulls her phone from her pocket and holds it to her ear, walking towards the doorway, not looking away from the room. “You just keep talking to her.” 

*

By the time Snow and David arrive, Regina’s able to talk. Her speech is slightly slurred and her eyes can’t seem to focus, but her hand runs through Henry’s hair as she asks him about his day. 

He tells her, because it’s what he thinks she wants to hear- she listens intently to his run-down of lessons and breaks, laughs gently at his jokes- but once the others turn up, he takes the opportunity. Emma pulls him to one side, tells him- in a slightly toned down version- what’s been happening. 

Snow leads him out of the room and into his own, keeping him far away from the mess that’s happening downstairs. 

*

“Regina, lie still,” David says, like a parent scolding their child. "We knew we should have stayed."

As he tries to wipe the remaining blood from her face, she brushes his hand away. “Will you stop coddling me?”

He sits up straight and holds the cloth in his lap. His eyes narrow as he says, “Really?”

“What?”

“You’re going to do this _now_?”

“When else would you prefer?” she murmurs. “Sunday after brunch? Or maybe-” She stops in her tracks, closing her mouth tight. 

“Regina?”

She tilts her head and her eyebrow twitches, pissed at how long it takes David to realise. He yells for Emma to grab one of the bowls from the fireplace, and as soon as it’s within his grasp, Regina snatches it with force. “Get out,” she snarls, coughing violently. Small puddles of red pool at the bottom of the bowl, and she grimaces at something else being ruined. 

First the carpet, and now her ornaments too. 

David looks at Emma and she nods once, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll handle it.” 

“If it gets worse, I’m right outside.”

“Got it,” she says.

The minute he’s out of sight, Regina whips round to Emma, voice like an oncoming storm. “And you want to stay and watch this, _why_?”

“Someone has to,” she says defensively. “Unless you’d like me to call David back in?” She pauses for a moment, steps closer. “Or you could always enjoy a pep-talk with Mary Margaret?”

Regina scowls at the thought, says, “I suppose you can stay,” before she’s throwing up again. She turns her head as much as possible, hiding her face from Emma’s view. It’s macabre, but at least it’s mostly blood. She’s not sure she keeps anything down anymore. 

Emma lingers beside her, hands rising and falling, unsure of what to do. With a flick of her wrist, a hairband appears in her palm. She holds it out to Regina at an arm’s length. 

“What do you expect me to do with that?”

Emma motions to Regina’s hair before shoving her hands back into her pockets. “You know, to keep it out of the way.”

Regina takes the band carefully and throws her hair back, wincing at the movement. “Thank you, but I believe it’s unnecessary now.” She leans forward with a groan and sits on the sofa properly, back still leant against the cushions. She places the bowl on the table beside her and sighs, eyes closed. Wiping her mouth with a clean cloth, she takes a sip of her water. “I hate to ask this,” she starts. Emma looks at her expectantly, almost pleadingly, as she flops onto the arm of the sofa. “But is there really nothing you can do?”

Emma’s eyes drop to the floor, in both shame and regret. “I’ve tried,” she says. “I’ve been looking, but…”

“There’s nothing,” Regina states.

Emma shrugs and attempts a smile. “I’m sure we’ll find it soon. We just need to-”

“Keep looking? Like that got me anywhere with you.”

Looking up, slightly taken aback, Emma says, “Me?”

Regina stares at her in exasperation. “The darkness didn’t make you _smarter_ either. We were looking for a way to bring you back. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Emma repeats, and Regina gives a small chuckle. A strand of hair falls from her ponytail and Emma leans forward to brush it away, locking it behind one ear. She can feel Regina’s breathing quicken, is sure that her own is just as fast. 

“Emma-” Regina begins.

“Don’t. Don’t… say anything.” The space between them is miniscule. Emma can see the slight specks of mascara still present, despite the bareness of Regina’s face, and the way her cheeks flush red and her eyes remain glazed over. 

And then she closes whatever distance remains, lips locked together, hands gentle and tender. Regina flinches at first, unsure of the touch, but soon leans into it. It’s slow, nothing frantic, and it’s not at all what Regina imagines (not that she’d _been_ imagining it, of course) kissing the Dark One would feel like.

For a single moment, she forgets the pain and suffering of the previous weeks, wants nothing more than to be closer. But then Emma pulls away, staring at her with frightened eyes. Her mouth drops open. “Regina, I- I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Her voice is still shaking. 

Emma relaxes slightly, but Regina just stares at her, face now composed, giving nothing away. “Okay,” she breathes, and then she slumps back onto the other end of the sofa, curling up just enough so as not to disturb Regina. The pair are silent, the air still, until she speaks again. “I’ll stay here until the others decide what to do.”

But when the Charmings return, both Emma and Regina are fast asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More angst, I suppose. I'm not sure how long I want this fic to be, so if you enjoy it, please let me know :)

“Do we wake them?”

“No, David, let them rest.”

“I think we should wake them.”

“If Regina kills you, it’s your own fault.”

Emma shifts on the sofa, eyes fluttering open. Snow glares at David, nudging his arm gently, before giving a small, “Sorry.” Although she smiles, her eyes are tired, and David looks just as worse for wear. 

Stretching her arms above her head, Emma grins and says, “No big deal.” She sits up, resting her elbows on her knees and opens her mouth to speak.

But then Regina comes around, rubbing her head with her palms. She glances up, stares at Emma with something Snow and David can’t quite read, and even Emma herself is struggling to understand. Shifting her gaze to herself, she stands with a scowl- despite Snow’s disapproval- and says, “I’m going to get dressed.” 

Ignoring any and all remarks about how wise that choice may be, she heads upstairs, avoiding every mirror as she does so. 

When she next returns, she’s wearing a black and white pantsuit- Emma’s never been happier to see it- and her hair and makeup are both so pristine that no one would ever know she’d been ill. If it wasn’t for the slight tremor as she swallows, and the redness surrounding her pupils, she’d look the same as she always does: impartial to everything, and just a little imposing. 

Regina clears her throat and with one hand resting on her hip, she asks, “Where’s Henry? I checked his room and he’s not there.” 

Snow awkwardly shifts her gaze from Regina to Emma and back again, before saying, “We dropped him off at a friend’s while you two were… asleep.”

“I see.”

Emma fidgets on the spot, not quite meeting Regina’s stare. If Snow picks up on it, she doesn’t say anything. “Me and David think it would be best to seek help elsewhere,” Snow says. “The Blue Fairy is-”

Regina recoils at the sound of her name. “No.” It’s not left up for discussion.

“Regina,” David starts, edging closer, “she’s your best shot.”

“She won’t help.”

“You don’t know that.”

Regina chuckles darkly, tilting her head back half an inch. “She’s never been one to help me, David. I’ve always been blamed for my mother’s past. And now? Well, now I have my own.”

Emma steps forward, hand gripping her arm. Regina stares down at it, but doesn’t shrug away just yet. Instead, she levels her eyes with Emma’s and waits. 

“Trust us,” Emma insists, expression pained. “What other choice do we have?”

It’s then that Regina pulls away, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Fine,” she swallows. “But this changes nothing.” Emma knows that there’s more beneath the words, can’t speak just yet, and Regina’s expression is like stone.

“Did I miss something?” Snow’s voice cuts through the air like a sword.

Emma starts and turns round instantly, putting distance between herself and Regina. “What?”

“You two have been acting funny all day,” she says slowly, drawing out the words like an accusation.

Regina frowns. “Well, Snow, I’m sorry if the fact I’ve been poisoned inconveniences you.”

David crosses his arms and shakes his head, looks between all three. “Do I even want to know?” he sighs.

Rolling her eyes, slipping on her heels, Regina grabs her bag from the table. “There’s nothing _to_ know.”

They stand at least three feet apart for the rest of the day. 

*

“She’s going to say no,” Regina says as they near the door. 

Snow reaches out a hand and knocks. Her voice is soft as she whispers, “Stop fretting. It’ll be fine.”

Regina’s body still aches- each breath feels like she’s inhaling Arctic winds and solar flares- but she does her best to hide it. There’s a pressure on her brain and a pain in her head that just won’t leave. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees David watching her. “I don’t fret,” she says.

When the door opens, Regina turns to the side in a huff, arms crossed. Beneath her breath she mumbles, “Finally,” and David shoots her a glare. Shrugging her shoulders, she sighs and looks at Blue. “We need-”

“We need your help,” Snow cuts in, an earnest smile plastered on her face. “Please.”

The fairy looks at the group in front of her. From Snow, to Emma and David, before her scrutiny finally stops at Regina. She regards her with an air of hostility, chin held upwards. “And what would this help involve?”

“A cure,” Snow says, voice darkening, “for the deadliest of poisons.” 

“A cure?” For a moment, Blue looks taken aback. “For who?”

Snow falters in her speech, opens her mouth but no words come out. David raises a hand and places it on Regina’s shoulder. She dodges it and it slips towards the ground, but still he lingers at her side. 

“I see,” Blue says, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

Regina raises one eyebrow as if to say ‘I told you so’. She gives the fairy a sarcastic smile and turns on the spot, coming face to face with Emma, startles for a moment before demanding, “Let’s go.” Her face is hard, but her eyes are wet, despite how hard she tries to conceal it. 

“Regina,” Emma whispers, face fallen, but she simply shakes her head and brushes past. 

“Wait.” Blue’s voice is what eventually slows her. 

Turning around, she snaps, “ _What?_ ” but with the speed of her movement, and the fear she refuses to feel, she stumbles slightly to the side, regaining her balance with a sharp wince. She exhales loudly and refuses to meet their stare. 

“I might have something,” she sighs. 

*

It’s almost five by the time Regina collects Henry.

Emma sits in the passenger seat of the car, staring out the window, looking anywhere but her. “We need to-”

“Just because I allowed you to accompany me, Miss Swan, doesn’t mean I wish to discuss anything.” 

“Pull over.” 

Regina shifts her gaze to the side. “Sorry?”

“Hey, I helped you out back there,” Emma says, frowning. “You think Mary Margaret would’ve let you drive if I hadn’t stepped in?”

“I didn’t ask you to do anything.”

“But I did.” 

With an exaggerated sigh, Regina turns the wheel, stopping a block away from their destination. She fidgets in her seat slightly, enabling her to face Emma- who, to her surprise, seems to have lost all nervousness. The tension in the car is palpable, as though you could wring it out with a cloth. 

Emma smiles, but there’s something darker there this time, and Regina hates that she can’t look away. “Just admit you liked it,” she says.

“Liked what?” Regina asks coyly, face unchanging. 

“So this is how it’s going to be?” Emma leans closer, hand on Regina’s thigh, lips by her ear. Her voice is low, taunting, as she whispers, “Why won’t you just admit it?” 

Regina swallows thickly, eyes flitting from Emma’s hand to somewhere far beyond the windshield. She keeps her head facing forward, a small smirk dancing on her lips. “For the same reason you won’t.” 

Emma flops back down into the seat, grinning to herself with a smile so vexingly wide that Regina can’t help but roll her eyes. “And why are you so happy?”

She doesn’t respond straight away, but when she does, Regina feels the air escape her. “Because I can feel the way your heart races.” 

Regina looks at her for a moment, face set, before moving so close that Emma can feel her breath on her cheek. She stares down at her, the edges of her mouth lifting, as she exhales, “Like yours is right now?” 

And then she pulls away, starts the car, and neither gives a reason when asked why they’re late. 

*

“Blue may have found something,” Regina says later that night, once she and Henry are alone. They’re sitting on the sofa- Henry hasn’t left her side since she picked him up, helps her with the smallest of tasks- as the TV plays in the background. They’re both too preoccupied to take it in, and so it mostly plays to itself, but Henry insists on leaving it on, refuses to go to bed just yet. 

His eyes light up as he says, “What is it?”

“A spell- kind of. Old and long forgotten. No one really knows if it’s much more than a myth. But she’s looking.” 

Henry leans in closer, putting one arm around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder. He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t need to; the way that he looks up at her says it all. 

And as she kisses his forehead and rests her chin atop his hair, she closes her eyes, wanting nothing more than for this moment to last forever.

If time could ever stop, she’d choose now for it to do so. 

*

A loud knocking on the door wakes her. It’s the middle of the afternoon- Regina dropped Henry off at school a few hours ago- and the TV is still playing, now muted.

She’d been thinking about Robin, the last time they’d spoke. It wasn’t pleasant and there’d been a collection of raised voices, but in the end, one thing was settled. This relationship- this ‘soul mate’ business between them… it was over. She’d clarified that he’d done nothing wrong, he’d insisted that whatever made her happy must be followed. 

In hindsight, Regina thinks she’d have rather had him yell, scream at her till his voice went hoarse.

She sits up, throws a quick glance to the mirror, and heads for the door. As she pulls it open, she stifles a yawn, trying her hardest not to look as though she’d been asleep mere minutes before. “Yes?”

David barges in- suspiciously, not with Snow this time- and walks past her into the hall. He pivots on the spot to face her. “What have you been doing? You were meant to be at ours an hour and a half ago.”

Regina’s eyes dart to the clock, realisation seeping in like water to a sponge. “I fell asleep,” she admits.

His frown softens, voice mild but- and she thanks the gods above- not patronising, as he says, “Let’s go.”

He waits for her to leave before following, lingers close behind and opens her car door. 

*

“It should work,” Blue says carefully, eyeing Regina with caution. 

“ _Should?_ ”

Snow frowns- the Charmings’ expressions lately are becoming more and more parent like- and David nudges her shoulder lightly. “She’s doing you a favour,” he says. “Play nice.”

Regina raises her eyebrows, opens her mouth to speak (David looks at her with mock interest) before falling silent. 

“It won’t be pleasant,” Blue says, and Regina swears she’s enjoying it, “but if it gets the job done…”

“We’ll take our chances,” Snow spurts. “What is it?”

“It’s an ancient spell, fit for an ancient poison. I’d almost forgotten it existed. Back then, of course, the methods were slightly less… gentle.” 

Snow’s expression drops as she repeats, “What is it?” 

“It requires an incantation to be performed, during a draining ritual. It’s supposed to cleanse the blood of any and all negative energies.” 

Regina steps forward, shoving away from David’s grip. She looks Blue in the eyes as she says, “And why do I not like the sound of this?”

The fairy has the decency to avert her gaze, face sombre. “Because the draining that’s required is of your blood.” There’s a pause as everyone’s eyes fall on Regina. “Though, not all at once, of course.”

“Of course,” Regina smiles mockingly, turning to leave. “This is never going to work. Let’s go.”

“Regina, wait!” Snow grabs her hand, almost falling over in her rush to move. She doesn’t let go- not even when Regina shakes her head and glares- but instead just holds on tighter, tears threatening to fall. “You’re scared. _I know_. But you have to do this.”

“ _Scared?_ Please, Snow. I’d just rather not waste my time, dear.” Her voice is terse, like fabric stretched over a glass. 

And in a cloud of smoke and purple vapour, she’s gone. 

*

“She’ll come around,” Snow says that night, pacing in the Charmings’ loft. 

David sits on the sofa, arms draped over the sides. “Will she?”

“She has to.”

He stands, moving to wrap his arms around Snow’s waist, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll see,” he whispers, and the room is still.

*

“That was some exit.”

Regina startles- the wine in her hand spills slightly over the edge, a solitary drop falling to the rug- as her head shoots up. “And that was some entrance,” she hisses. 

Emma sits in the chair opposite her, eyebrows casually raised. “I do my best. “

Silence. 

“Why’d you leave?”

“Why were you watching?”

The edges of Emma’s mouth curl up. “For this very reason.” 

“Well I’m fine, so you can go now.” 

“The wine glass says differently.” 

This causes Regina to sit forward, elbows on her knees. “You are in _no_ position to tell me how to live _my_ life.”

“Considering I sacrificed myself for it, I think I am,” Emma says, smiling gently, intending to lighten the mood. 

Regina takes a deep breath and stares hard at the coffee table. Her voice quivers, nowhere near as snarky as she’d have liked, as she says, “You seem fine to me. Just as annoying as ever.” 

“The other day,” Emma starts, “in the house and in the car-”

“Just stop.” Her voice is low, as though talking takes far too much effort. “We don’t need-”

“I think we do,” Emma says, standing. “What is this between us?” she pleads. “Regina, I need to _know_.”

“What do you want me to say? That I _like_ you? That I don’t _hate_ you? That I _want_ you?” She scoffs and turns her head, stands up but keeps her distance, repeats, “What do you want me to say?” and this time the words are like spears, twisting through the air, tips coated with poison. 

“Do you have to be such a bitch about _everything?_ ” Emma says, exasperated, hands flying out at her sides.

Regina’s face sets, eyes as hard as stone. “I guess I do.”

Emma laughs, but it’s layered in bitterness and anger. The lightbulb above their head bursts. “You know,” she says, stepping closer- Regina remains where she is, expression as cool as ice- “people are going to stop trying one day. You’ve had chance after chance, but it always boils down to this. You _hurt_ people.”

Regina clenches her jaw as Emma continues, a door slamming closed somewhere in the house, sparks flying from her hands. The magic is dark, unpredictable, and Regina knows that should anything happen, she wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“I never said it before- out of _kindness_ \- but God Regina, you are… you are exactly like Cora. No wonder Gold saw it too.” She’s angry, wounded, desperate to get any sort of reaction, even if the words she’s speaking are far from true.

The glass Regina’s holding is flung at the wall, the liquid dripping down the forest trees, as though the branches are bleeding, bare. “Get out,” she seethes, hand viciously thrown towards the door. 

Emma’s face drops. She raises her chin and swallows before disappearing, leaving Regina standing alone with unfallen tears in her eyes and a beating agony in her chest. 

The room has never felt so silent. 

The wine continues to seep into the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to use this space to say thank you to everyone who commented last time. Each and every one makes me super happy :)

That night, the skies open and the wind roars and Storybrooke is covered in a blanket of white.

Frost layers the ground, ice hangs from the trees, splintering downwards and cracking each and every leaf, and Regina awakes to numb extremities and a biting chill that causes her teeth to chatter. 

Once she’s fully aware, she throws her dressing gown around her body and heads downstairs to start the fire. It rumbles and comes to life, the steady glow warming the room and casting shadows in every corner. She watches them- how they dance across the walls- and sighs, the air leaving her body as though it’s all she has left. 

Tears prick at her eyes but she refuses to let them fall. There’s a pain in her stomach and an ache in her heart, and she can no longer tell what the cause is. She closes her eyes and squeezes them tight, wishes she could block it all out, end whatever _this_ is. 

“I’m sorry.” Emma’s voice resounds throughout the room, rupturing the resolve Regina tried so hard to keep. A solitary tear makes its way down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it aside, can’t bear to move, draw attention to this moment of… _weakness._

When she next glances up, Emma’s walking closer: slowly, tentatively, like one might approach a wild animal. She raises her hands in a signal of surrender as she sits in the opposite chair. Their positioning is almost identical to the previous night. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

Regina laughs and bites the inside of her lip, jaw clenched. “And just how sure of that are you, Miss Swan?”

Emma leans forward, breaking the distance as much as she can, venturing nearer yet never quite pushing it. “Are we really going back to that?”

“To what?” Regina says, voice glazed in mock confusion, a sarcastic innocence underlying each word. 

Emma opens her mouth to speak, sees the tear tracks down Regina’s face, notices the slight tremor in her hands. “Nothing,” she sighs. 

The room’s silent for a moment, neither one talking, until Regina rests her face in her palms, staring intently at the flames, and says, “I spent my entire life trying not to be like her.” Her voice is strained, heavy, each word carrying a thousand thoughts. “Trying to avoid the person she became.” 

“I was wrong,” Emma admits, pressing the issue, eyes wide and frantic. 

“And yet… you’re not the first to say it.” 

Emma sits back and rubs at her eyes. She shakes her head slowly before pausing for a moment, and it’s then that something shifts; the atmosphere changes. Regina narrows her eyes as Emma pushes herself up and moves to perch next to her, one leg crossed beneath her body.

“I get that you’re defensive,” she says- Regina scoffs, muttering an almost amused, ‘Am I?’- “but you don’t _need_ to be.” Emma edges closer, takes Regina’s hand in her own, traces the lines along her thumb. When their eyes meet, she gives a small smile that makes Regina wish things were that easy. 

Regina takes a deep breath in, looks down at their entwined fingers, revels in the way Emma’s touch feels against her skin. But then she pulls her hand back and brings it to her mouth, one finger resting beneath her nose. “You need to leave,” she whispers, voice raw. 

Emma tilts her head to the side, expression wistful, full of longing and sorrow. “I think that’s _exactly_ what I shouldn’t do.”

“Miss Swan-”

“Emma.”

Regina rolls her eyes. “ _Emma_. I’d like to be alone.”

“But-”

“Go.” This time, there’s no room for discussion, and Emma knows full well that to push the issue would be a mistake. But before she leaves, she stops to say one last thing, one last truth to make up for the previous deceit. 

Her eyes don’t quite look up from the ground as she says, “You know, I don’t know when it happened, or _how_ it happened, but somewhere along the line, along this _very screwed up line_ , something changed and when it did, how I looked at _you_ did too. I’d say it was the whole darkness thing but what the hell, when has there ever been a better time to be honest?” 

Regina closes her eyes, not wanting to hear any more. “Save your breath,” she mutters, heart clenching.

A softened anger clouds Emma’s gaze, mushrooming out, extending far beyond her. “I didn’t mean to, and I don’t know why, and God, it is _so_ messed up, but a part of me wants nothing more than to be with you, to see you happy, and right now, I know that you’re far from it. Regina, I-”

Regina stands from her seat and moves nearer until their faces are mere inches apart. “Don’t finish that sentence,” she says, and her voice is so tortured and pained that Emma stops for a moment, takes a second to really, truly look her over. 

“Okay,” she whispers.

And the minute she leaves, Regina heaves a small gasp and clasps a shaking hand around her mouth. She lowers herself back into the seat, as though her legs can no longer hold the weight, and this time, she allows herself to cry. 

*

“It’s bitter out there,” David says, taking off his jacket and hanging it onto the closest hook. Snow falls like dust to the ground, flakes still residing in his hair, not quite melted. “Have you heard any more from Regina?”

Snow looks up from the sink, turns off the tap. “Nothing. It’s as though she’s just vanished, into thin air.”

Manoeuvring around the worktop, David takes the towel from her hands and finishes drying the dishes. She stands at his side and taps nervously on the counter. “Have you tried her house?” he says. 

“It’s locked. We didn’t want to do anything extreme, seeing as it’s only been two days, but…” She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Why didn’t we make her give us a spare key?”

“Hey. It’ll be okay,” David says. “And Emma? Have you seen her?”

Snow’s fingers come to still. “Actually,” she says. “No.”

The pair look at each other, neither wanting to say what they know they both fear. It’s eventually Snow who speaks, untangling herself from David’s arms. She grabs her coat and instantly starts buttoning it up. “We need to find Emma.”

“I’m here.” The shock of her voice causes Snow to startle, the bottom of her coat flaring out. 

David furrows his eyebrows and rushes towards her, searching her face for anything that should cause them to worry. “How much did you-”

“Hear?” She shifts from one foot to the other, feels as though she’s been caught eavesdropping. “Enough. I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning. We- well, let’s just say we got into an argument.”

Snow nods and steps closer, implores cautiously: “An argument?” 

Emma runs her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip. “Things got heated. She asked me to leave and I did. I mean, maybe I should’ve stayed, especially with the cold, but…”

“It’ll be fine,” David assures, much like he had done with Snow minutes before. “We’ll try her house again.”

*

Snow knocks on the door with such force that shards of ice fall from the top and collect on her hat. Flakes still fall from the sky, landing on their faces, settling on the ground. Their boots sink into the snow like jelly. It’s hard to distinguish between land and sky, frost and cloud. 

There’s no response.

“Maybe she’s asleep?” Emma says, but there’s a roughness to her voice that suggests she doesn’t quite believe her words- not that the others do either.

“Maybe,” Snow repeats, eyes downcast. 

“So what do we do? Smash the door down?” David looks at her with something she can’t seem to place. “What?”

He runs a hand through his hair, grimaces. “Can’t you… use magic? You got in before.”

“Sure, _I_ got in. But that was just me.” She pauses and tucks a loose tendril behind her ear. “I can try,” she shrugs. 

Raising her palms, she closes her eyes and concentrates. Concentrates on raw emotion and _feeling_ and the burning sensation of guilt (and _desire?_ ) that leaves her desperate and frantic and worried. Concentrates on Regina, in there alone, and Henry, sitting in class none the wiser. Concentrates on the argument they had, how pitiful it all was and how sad it all now seems.

The door swings open. 

“You did it,” Snow breathes, wrapping one arm around her neck.

“I guess I did.” She adjusts her jacket and stands up a little straighter. “After you.”

*

The house is eerily silent. No window frames creak, no TV plays, and flecks of dust can be seen on the table tops and skirting boards. It’s almost unearthly how strange it all feels, how different it is to what they’d usually be welcomed to- or, maybe not so welcomed, in Regina’s case. 

Emma hangs at the back as Mary Margaret and David check each room, wary of straying too far, encountering Regina alone. 

“She’s not down here,” Snow says, already heading for the staircase.

“If she were upstairs, wouldn’t she have come down by now? Yelled at us about privacy and _staying out of her business_?” David seems exasperated, weary, but most all, _worried._ The situation seems far more severe now, far more _real_ , and honestly, it terrifies all of them. 

Emma feels her heartbeat increase and her palms begin to sweat, wipes them on her trousers and takes a deep breath. This day is going to be hell.

She wonders whether she’s already there.

“Regina?” Snow calls, pushing open the door to the upstairs study. It’s loud enough to be heard downstairs, to wake Regina should she be asleep.

Right now, Snow decides that she’d take any witty comment, a hurricane of fiery remarks and snarky insults. She’d take ridicule and mockery and jokes that go just that little too far. Sarcastic comments that sting just that little bit much. But instead, she gets nothing. And it’s the worst thing of all. 

She looks back for guidance- Emma gives a small shrug; David places a gentle hand on her shoulder- before gripping the handle of Regina’s bedroom door. Her voice is small as she says, “Please don’t let this be like last time.”

But once the door swings open and they can see into the room, Snow realises that perhaps a repeat of last time would have been kinder. 

Regina lies on the floor beside her bed- Snow’s heart falls to her stomach at the sight of her, corpse-like and still- in a pool of red. The carpet is stained and they cannot tell how long she’s been there, how much blood has been spilt. The colour is vicious and cruel, reminding them of how little they can do, and how easy it is to lose it all. 

She’s slightly curled up, as though still hurting, with one arm draped over her stomach and the other splayed out beside her. There’s a packet of painkillers next to her head and crumpled in her palm, a tissue stained scarlet. Her phone rests in one hand, _Emma Swan_ written in bold letters on the screen, and suddenly _‘almost’_ seems like the most important word in the world. 

Snow’s face goes wan, paling instantly, a small cry leaving her lips. David brushes his hand against hers as he drops to Regina’s side, pressing two fingers against her neck. “She still has a pulse,” he says, glancing up, and despite everything, a shred of relief flickers across his face. “We need to get her out of here.”

Leaning down so that she’s almost mirroring David’s position, Emma feels sick at the sight of it all. Regina’s breathing is shallow, as though it doesn’t exist at all, and her lips are chapped and swollen. Her face is bare, cheeks devoid of colour, yet her eyes are rimmed red and blood trickles from her nose, mouth, ears. It covers her hands, frail and lithe, and seeps into her clothes like water. 

It’s everywhere, inescapable, and from this moment on, Emma decides that she never wants to see the colour red again. 

She reaches for one of Regina’s hands, ignoring how the blood is thick on her fingers and her stomach twists at the stillness, and almost gasps at how cold it feels. “She’s frozen,” Emma says, voice coated in horror and dread. She nods her head at David, silently insisting that he feel it for himself, and as he presses four fingers to her arm and swallows gravely, Emma knows that he senses it too. 

Senses the life leaving her. 

“Come on,” David grunts, hooking one arm under Regina’s neck, her legs draped over his other. “We’ll go to Blue.” As he stands, Regina mumbles something, head lulled to the side. Her fingers twitch slightly, as though the movement and the touch and the warmth of someone else is such a shock that it brings her back from the edge. 

Her eyelids flutter but she never seems able to open them, as if a thousand lead weights are attached to each one. Snow steps closer, peers down at her, doesn’t look away as she says, “She looks awful.” It’s no more than a whisper, as though the quietness of the sentence will make it less true.

Regina struggles against David’s grip but he only holds tighter, a weak ex-monarch nothing in comparison to what he’s fought before. “Put me down,” she murmurs, but it’s barely recognisable. 

As they reach the stairs, David adjusts the hand behind her head, taking extra care not to jostle her. With each small change in movement, she groans a little, as though the motion is excessively amplified, unduly painful. “Carry me gently,” she hisses, and from behind, Emma smiles. 

But the minute they step outside, the wind whips their hair into a flurry, and the air is so cold that it seems to freeze the very breath inside them. “Are you _trying_ to kill me?” Regina says.

"Shit," Emma sighs and rubs at her forehead. The others turn to look at her. “None of our cars are nearby.”

Snow’s eyes widen before she runs back in, and when she returns, there’s a blanket draped over her arms. “It’s not much,” she says softly, “but it’ll help.” 

She hands it to David, who has a small argument with Regina about taking it- “I’m not a child.” “Just put it over you.” “I’m not wearing this in the street.” “You don’t have much choice.”- and eventually hangs it over her body. 

With a sigh, she stares at the sky, at the billowing clouds and faint outline of the moon, ignoring the fact that she’s still in David’s arms, and how the whole Charming ensemble is following her. She doesn’t speak to Emma once- mainly due to the pain each word extracts, bubbling inside of her, burning her throat, but also for one very simple reason: she can’t bear to. 

She refuses to acknowledge the stares of the locals, rolls her eyes when one dares to ask what’s happening. Instead, she focuses on the whispering of trees and the shuffle of branches in the wind, on the calming birdsong and noise of crickets. 

Her head is fuzzy, and this time, when she glances up at David’s face, she can barely make out his features. She feels herself slipping away, getting closer to that edge. Claws pull her closer, digging into her skin, and all she wants to do is close her eyes and let it take her. 

Somewhere in the background, she swears she hears her name, but she’s too far gone, doesn’t know if she can make it back. If she focuses- really, _truly_ focuses- she can feel the steady trickle of liquid running down her face, blending with the rest, only noticeable by its vibrant colour and sticky texture. It hurts to breathe, to listen, to think, to feel. Her cheek stings and she’s sure that she can hear someone sniffling, trying not to fall apart. 

David’s running now, she’s sure of it, can feel the way his breathing’s quickened and his heartrate has increased tenfold. His hands hold her tighter, as though she may fall, but it’s all so amusing how he doesn’t yet know, hasn’t quite realised. 

He can’t see that she fell long ago.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, a slightly nicer chapter than last time.

Over the edge, the ground is rough and the air is hard to breathe. Darkness shrouds her as she lies there amongst the mud, and when she stares upwards, there’s no stars, no moon; no sun, no light. Only blackness, and so blackness is all there must be. 

But then she feels herself lifting, as though the wind itself is sweeping her up, locking her in a wispy, cradling embrace. And the world suddenly feels less empty when she hears her name. 

_Regina._

*

Her eyes open to a dimly lit room, but she can tell that it’s usually bright and glowing. Everything is white: the ceiling and walls, the furniture and the floor- even the clock and the flowers. A smell fills her nostrils, antiseptic and sterile, and her arms feel pierced and bare.

_A hospital_. She grimaces at the thought. 

Emma’s sitting beside her, eyes closed, head nodding slightly towards her lap. Her hair’s a mess and her face is pale; she looks as though she hasn’t slept properly in days. Regina rests her hands either side of her body and pushes herself up with a grunt. Pain rips through her stomach as though it’s tearing it apart, flesh leaving muscle, muscle leaving bone. 

Countless tubes are connected to her arms, but only one catches her attention. Blood flows through it- from her body to a small, metal machine- and a soft purple glow is emitted from the liquid. She sighs and runs a shaky hand through her hair, brushing it out of her face. 

“You’re up,” Emma says, stifling a yawn, stretching her arms behind her back. “Finally.” Her tone is teasing but there’s also something else there. Relief coated in mockery, fear in ridicule. 

“Unfortunately,” she drawls, voice scratchy and raw. “How long have I been out? What’s all _this?_ ” She flicks one of the tubes out of her way, wincing as it pinches skin. 

Emma shrugs. “A couple days. And don’t touch that.” 

She ignores the warning, still shuffles around on the bed until her back is straight and she feels slightly less vulnerable. A hospital gown covers her body, thin and offering barely any warmth. “And yet you’re still here?”

“I never left,” Emma smiles, and although she can’t put her finger on why, Regina feels a rush of sadness, a flood of guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“For staying?” Regina’s forehead creases, eyebrows drawn into a frown.

“No,” Emma says, laughing softly. But then her expression darkens and her eyes fall as utter regret flashes across her face. “For the whole Cora thing.”

“I’m over it.”

“I was terrified. Terrified that you’d… that it’d be the last time we properly spoke.” 

Regina clears her throat and clasps her hands together. She’s still frighteningly pale, and looks younger, helpless, _tired_ without her dark lips and lined eyes. “You had no reason to be. I’m fine.” Her voice is so mechanic, so void of everything, that Emma almost wants to shake her. 

“ _Fine?_ ” She laughs again, wonders whether Regina really thinks she’s okay, whether she’s just hellishly stubborn. “God, Regina, you are far from fine.” 

“Do I look dead to you, Miss Swan?”

“Honestly? A little.” 

Regina narrows her eyes and curls her fingers into the blanket, feeling the cheap cotton and slight roughness of the sheets. A baby cries from somewhere down the hall. A doctor can be heard yelling orders. “Well, I forgive you. I… _may_ have been wrong, too.” She pauses, scrunches her nose in a gesture that’s meant to be accepting. “And I suppose you _did_ save my life more than once.” 

“Damn right, I did,” Emma says, placing one hand over Regina’s. Her eyes are watery, tears unshed. When she next speaks, her voice comes out as no more than a whisper. “And I’d do it again.” 

The silence that follows is comfortable, like sitting by a fire as rain falls outside, and Regina wonders whether this is finally what home feels like. 

*

“Mum!” Henry’s voice causes both heads to rise. 

“Henry,” Regina breathes, as though he’s the only thing in the world. 

He runs towards her, arms open, and throws them around her neck. When he squeezes, her body aches and her lungs feel like they’re going to burst, like a thousand volts of electricity are running through her veins, but she doesn’t let him see, and she doesn’t care, because all she can think about is how worried he seemed and how in this moment, it’s just the two of them, and she couldn’t love him more. 

He pulls back, searches her face. She smiles and it’s genuine, the type of smile that only Henry has been able to bring from her, that only Henry has been able to procure. “How are you feeling?” he says, and Regina’s heart breaks at the sight of tears forming in his eyes.

“Better now that you’re here,” she says, and it’s true- has _always_ been true.

She turns her head to the side, realises that Emma has slipped out at some point. For a moment, she feels as though a part of her has left the room too, but then the notion’s gone, and she’s gathering Henry into her arms with a quiet ‘Hey’. 

“They called me out of class. I got here just in time to see them wheeling you in. There was blood everywhere, Mum. You were covered in it. I thought- I thought-” He can’t get the words out, tries his hardest to choke back a sob. 

“Look at me,” she says, and wiping the back of his hand under his eyes, he does. “I am so sorry that you had to see that, Henry, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just… I didn’t want to worry you. You didn’t _need_ to see this.”

“But you needed me and I wasn’t there.” 

When she looks into his eyes, he seems wise beyond his years, and she feels a pang of guilt in her stomach for all that he’s been through, all that he’s put up with for so long. She says, “I was in pretty good hands,” before pressing a kiss to his forehead and leaning back against her pillows. 

“How long were you there?” he says, tears beginning to lessen. 

“Where?”

“In your room- on the floor, where Mum, David and Mary Margaret found you.”

Regina grimaces at the thought, wonders who told him the grim details. “I don’t know,” she says, but it’s a lie. She’d been there longer than she’d care to admit, counted the minutes as she lay with her face against the carpet, recollecting the moment she _just_ missed the bed, and the sound her head made as it hit the floor. She hadn’t been able to move, couldn’t will her muscles to work. And so she waited for someone to come, for anyone to find her, though a part of her still recoiled when she figured how awful she looked. 

The blood had started hours before. At first, it had been small droplets here and there, the occasional nosebleed, but when it didn’t stop and her head spun, and she felt so much pain that she knew she’d go down, she’d at least tried to reach her bed. She had a tissue held to her nose, wiping away as much as she could, coughing up what felt like sandpaper and mud. She’d pulled out her phone, searched for Emma’s number, but her thumb had never quite managed to tap ‘ _call_ ’. 

She had thought she was going to die, and for a moment, she’d made peace with that. 

“It’s okay to be frightened, you know,” Henry says, and Regina starts at how much he hit the mark. 

“Oh, Henry, I’m not-” She stops in her tracks, realises that she can’t lie to him, not after all of this, not now. “Thank you,” she says, giving a small smile that one could easily miss, that Henry only sees because of how intently he’s watching her. But her eyes are still sad, and the clenching of her fist gives away so much more than she says.

“Mum’s been here every day. I came too, but she said I needed more sleep than she did, which I personally think is ridiculous.”

“Maybe she liked the hospital food.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Henry says, drawing out the word, nudging her hand gently. 

“I hear they serve a pretty mean carrot soup.” She smiles at the way he crinkles his nose in disgust. 

“What’s going on with you two? You’ve both been acting funny since she came back,” he says.

Regina doesn’t know what to say, couldn’t answer if she tried. So she settles for a, “Nothing, Henry,” and a lifetime of acting enables her to sound so sincere that for a second he seems truly baffled. “What makes you think that?”

He averts his eyes, stares at the hospital chair- which, he found rather quickly, is the most uncomfortable thing in the world- as though there’s someone only he can see. “I overheard her talking to you one time. She said she was sorry. What for?”

Regina licks her lips, mouth suddenly very dry. “It was just a small argument. Hardly anything new.” 

“She said she loved you.”

She stops as though she’s been struck. It takes her a while before she can speak again, swallowing everything she refuses to say, all thoughts she can’t admit. “There are many kinds of love.”

Henry looks up to meet her eyes, and with a single sentence, he knocks the breath right out of her, as though she’d never breathed at all. “I think she meant it.” 

*

She’s not so much released as reluctantly let go. After a few small spats with Dr Whale (none of which ended well), one of the nurses had pulled him aside and suggested they do as she says, lest she burn the whole place down. He’d chuckled a little and said she didn’t have the strength, but agreed nonetheless- mostly due to the fact that she was starting to grate on his nerves. 

The tubes are out of Regina within minutes, a bag containing clothes handed directly to her. She snatches it with a sharp, “Thank you,” before almost jumping from the bed. A hand reaches out to steady her but she brushes it aside, making a bee-line for the bathroom. 

She _hates_ the hospital gown. She hates the colour, the patterns that make her want to burn the whole thing. She hates how it drapes over her, barely covering anything, so thin that she feels as though she’s wearing nothing at all. She hates how it, along with her uncombed hair and hideously prominent dark circles, make her look like no more than a patient.

She hates how it makes her look _weak_. 

Once dressed, she’s pleasantly surprised to find a stash of makeup at the bottom of the bag, wonders for a moment who put it all together. She chooses a plum coloured lipstick, having decided that she’d seen enough red for quite some time, and applies it quickly. 

In the mirror, she catches sight of her arms, of the miniscule puncture wounds and thin scratches (that she most likely made herself, tugging on the tubes). She shrugs her blazer over her shoulders and straightens the shirt beneath it.

She _will_ get out of this hospital, if it’s the last thing she does.

*

“Regina?” The second she hears Snow’s voice, she knows that this may be harder than she thought. “What are you doing out?” 

“They let me go,” she says, walking straight ahead. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

David scoffs and steps in her way, eyebrows raised as she tries to slip past. “We spoke to them this morning,” he says, as though he doesn’t believe a word she’s saying- which, she supposes, is rather smart of him. “They said it was best for you to stay another few days.” He speaks slowly, knowing that he has her caught.

She can’t quite meet his eyes, winces internally at the thought of them finding her. Of David running, blood seeping into his shirt. “They said it was _best_. Not that I had to.” She shifts from one left to the other, huffs: “Now move.”

Snow grabs David arm in a motion of solidarity. “Regina, please. Come back to ours.”

She tilts her head slightly. “So you can fuss over me all day?”

“So we can make sure you’re okay,” Snow frowns.

Regina sighs, one hand locked around her bag, and looks anywhere but them. She’s not stupid, knows that if she went home alone, she’d be just as foolish as she’d always thought the Charmings to be. Yet she doesn’t want to admit that she needs their help, and she doesn’t want to spend the day _talking_ , which Snow would no doubt encourage.

She loses no matter what path she takes.

At seeing her unwilling expression, David stands straight and sombre. They’ve never got along and so, although she’d never admit it, she’s surprised to see the concern on his face, and it warms her heart just a little to think of them as friends. (Not that she cares what he thinks, of course, and if asked at any other time, she’d simply shrug and state that she’d rather marry a codfish than be friends with a deadbeat prince.) “Come on,” he says, and it’s so gentle and so weary that she almost feels bad. 

“Fine,” she says, pulling the strap of her bag further up her shoulder. “But I get my own room.” 

*

If Emma had never known the true meaning of the word _awkward_ , she certainly knew it now. 

She’d gone to Regina’s house to pick up some things- felt slightly awkward at the prospect of rummaging through her closet- only to find Robin Hood standing on the doorstep, one hand raised as if to knock. 

“Emma,” he says, voice tinged in confusion. “What- what are you doing here?”

She lifts the bag in her hand, as though it offers all the explanation needed. “Regina’s not here.” She frowns. “Did no one tell you?”

“It appears not,” he says, cautiously. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

Emma shuffles on the spot, twists the bag around her fingers. “Yeah, she’s fine. I, uhm- I have to go.” She flashes him an apologetic smile. "Sorry." 

She slips in and out of the hospital unseen. 

*

The second they return home to the Charmings’, Regina complains about the size, questions how they’ll all fit. 

“We’ve managed fine so far,” David chuckles, undeterred. “What difference does one more make?”

Regina mumbles something under her breath and throws her bag onto the sofa. It falls open and a tissue drops to the floor, covered in blood that she’s managed to hide. She looks to the side, sees Snow and David busying themselves in the kitchen, before leaning down to grab it. 

Once it’s in her pocket, she rolls her eyes at her own carelessness and lowers herself into the seat. She crosses her legs, flicks her heels to the ground, and leans back with her eyes closed. How did she get to this point? Sitting with the two _idiots_ , waiting for tea and biscuits.

Snow shoots her a look over her shoulder. “Everything alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Regina replies, voice calm, if not slightly irked. 

“Just asking.” She raises her hands in a show of defeat before pouring milk into three blue cups. Picking two up, she places them on the table in front of Regina, taking a seat opposite. “Thank you.”

“For?”

Snow sighs, shaking her head softly. “For actually listening to us for once.”

“I suppose I _did_ hit my head quite hard,” Regina says, and although she’d never point it out, Snow warms at the slight smile on her lips. 

And then David’s draping an arm over Snow’s shoulder, plopping down beside her. He takes a sip from his drink and exhales loudly- Regina scoffs at his lack of manners- before grinning, cheesy and far too happy for Regina’s liking. “What?” she says, slightly wary. 

“Look at us. Who would’ve thought?”

Regina stares at the tea in her hand, an uncharacteristic smile spreading across her face. She chuckles a little and Snow leans forward, eyes bright. “We knew we’d get that out of you one day.”

But then the front door slams shut and Emma’s standing in the doorway like a deer in headlights. She looks at the three of them, confusion etched onto her features, before her expression turns smug, almost taunting. “Did I miss something?” she says, hanging her jacket onto a nearby hook, heading for the fridge. 

Regina puts her cup down, clears her throat. With a minor groan, she pushes herself up- Snow’s hand twitches as though to help, but she soon thinks better of it- and joins Emma in the kitchen, leaning nonchalantly against the counter. “You’re back to staying here now?”

With a spoon dangling from her mouth, Emma glances up, and when she says, “Yeah,” it’s muted and mumbled. 

“Great,” Regina scoffs, turning her head to fiddle with a slip of paper (the words _milk, eggs, bread_ and _butter_ are messily scrawled across it). 

“Hey,” Emma says, standing to full height. “I thought we were fine? In the hospital, you-”

“Yes, well. It was a momentary lapse of weakness.” Her voice is casual, but her words hit Emma like a ton of bricks, dig into her like shards. 

“ _Weakness?_ That’s what this is about?”

Regina suddenly regrets leaving her heels by the sofa, especially with Emma now towering over her, so she rolls her eyes and stands a little straighter, hands pressed against the worktop. “Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Swan.” 

Emma stares at her for a moment. “Do you hear yourself when you talk?” she finally says, unable to believe her ears. 

Regina simply smiles blankly, says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” and it’s so aggravating that Emma throws her arms in the air, sends a bolt of black towards the ceiling. As the smell of smoke fills their nostrils, Regina chuckles darkly. “I’d say that was a bit of an overreaction.”

Emma’s eyes blaze red with anger. “All this over a _fucking_ kiss?”

Regina gapes, mask down, eyes flitting behind her to where Snow and David sit. They’ve gone silent, given up the pretence of not listening. David’s expression is unreadable, but he can't hide the way his mouth drops; Snow's shocked but there's something else too, something knowing, like the mysteries of the universe have just been revealed to her. And then they’re smiling courteously and standing, brushing down their clothes. “We’ll just,” Snow says awkwardly, thumb pointing towards the door. She doesn't finish her sentence.

It’s then that Regina turns on Emma, face drawn into a snarl, edging so close that she can almost feel the way Emma shakes with rage. “And the whole town needed to know that?”

“Jesus, Regina. I think there are bigger issues here than that. Why can’t you just tell me how you feel, what you _want_ , instead of- well, instead of _this_?”

And as though all the air has left her in an instance, Regina deflates, and Emma swears she sees her eyes film over. Her voice is broken, cracking slightly as she says, “Because when has that ever ended well for me?”

And so when Emma sighs, reaching for her face with gentle hands, leaning closer until their lips meet, Regina sinks into the kiss and prays to any and every god that this time, it will.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long; I just couldn't seem to get this chapter right. Thanks for all the comments!

Snow and David stay out for hours. By the time they slip in, a muddle of hushed voices and refusing to turn the lights on, the sky is dark and the room is lit by no more than the moon’s glow and the soft blur of television.

Emma sits on the sofa- coffee in one hand, remote in the other- and gives them a sheepish smile as they enter. “Hi,” she says. 

Snow stares at her pointedly. “We left Henry at a friend’s for tonight. Said Regina needed to rest.” Her eyes flit across the room. “Where is she?”

“She fell asleep,” Emma shrugs, ignoring the small detail of how she’d carried her to the bedroom, knowing Regina would kill her for letting her sleep on the couch. 

Snow nods, sits down next to her while David moves to the sink. Looking up from the dishes, he says, “About earlier-”

Emma grimaces and looks away. “Dad, really. It’s fine.”

“We just think-”

“It’s best if you don’t ask.”

The room falls silent, nothing but the muffled voices of _Stephen Fry_ and _Alan Davies_ playing in the background, discussing a rare species of bat. She’s been watching _QI_ for the past three hours now, and is sure that she knows at least a thousand more pointless facts than she did before. 

“You know,” Snow says, looking straight ahead, “I think a lot of what she does is to stop herself from getting hurt.”

“Yeah.” It’s soft, the fight long gone. “Though she doesn’t have to be so difficult about it.” 

Snow drapes an arm over her daughter’s shoulder. “I’d drink to that.”

They sit like that for a while, David eventually joining them. And before Emma slips off to bed, she peers round Regina’s door, just to check she’s still breathing. 

*

When Regina awakes, it’s not with a smile and a minor sigh; instead, it’s with a groan and a muttered curse as sunlight pierces through the windows. The first thing she registers is that she’s in her bed. She racks her mind, tries to remember the previous night, can’t think of anything but the way Emma pulled her closer and…

Did she fall asleep on the sofa?

As she swings her legs over the side of the bed, feet just reaching the floor, she exhales loudly and places her head in her hands. She can’t remember being woken, can’t remember moving, but she doesn’t want to think about the alternative. 

And as if her day couldn’t get any worse- despite the fact that it only started five minutes ago- it very quickly dawns on her that she may have a surprising lack of belongings. She’d come straight from the hospital, carrying no more than what she wore on her back, and a bag containing blood-stained clothes and a small collection of makeup. 

Even that was in the living room. 

Traipsing across the room, she glances into the small mirror on the wall. It’s surrounded in a thin, white frame, symbols and etchings engraved into the material. What she sees in the glass is slightly less appealing. Her eyes are bloodshot, demon red, and her skin is pasty and dry. Her hair isn’t too awful- she somehow pulls off the purposely messy look- but it isn’t _great_. She sees nothing more than a sickly, wretched fool.

When she finally musters the strength, and loses over half of her dignity, she leaves the room. She can hear Snow, David and Emma talking, lingers just out of their line of sight.  
“Regina, I can basically hear you rolling your eyes from here,” Snow says, but it’s nothing short of playful. 

With a huff, she turns the corner and refuses to meet Emma’s eyes- not _now_ , not with everyone here- and chooses instead to glare at the Charmings as though they’d personally stolen her stuff. She hates how they’re already dressed and clean and presentable, hates how much she misses her private space and monochrome walls. “It appears that I-” She pauses, tilts her head slightly, fiddles with her watch strap. “All of my things are back home.”

David stands with a grunt and stretch of his arms; Regina stares suspiciously as he edges closer. But then he ducks behind the kitchen countertop, disappearing for a second, before popping back up with four bags in his hands. “Already thought about.”

She starts to take the bags from him, tries not to show how heavy they are (or how frail she’s gotten), but David stops her after the second, says, “I’ll take the rest.” 

She presses her lips together in a thin line before withdrawing her hand, and her voice is unsure as she says, “Thank you.” But as she turns to leave, following David to her room, Snow calls her name from behind. 

“What now?” she sighs, exasperated, hands rising slightly. “Do I have to stay like this any longer than necessary?” She motions to her crumpled clothes. 

Snow smiles, smug and knowing, and Regina regrets every decision she’s made in the past few days. “I just wanted to say… not to worry about last night.”

“Last night?” She’s almost daring Snow to mention it. Her voice is terse, strained, and if she could use her magic, the girl wouldn’t be able to reply at all.

“Nothing,” Snow says, but Regina’s sure she’s trying not to laugh, notices her attempts to hide the smirk on her face. 

Breathing in deeply, Regina counts to ten and turns away.

She takes her anger out on the shower instead.

*

By the time she’s done, hair dripping wet and a towel wrapped tightly under her arms, she almost cries in relief. It’d been hard, standing up for so long, scrubbing at her hair and trying to wipe away the past few days. She regrets not taking a bath, doesn’t know why she didn’t, but it’s over now and she wants nothing more than to lie on her bed and ignore the world.

She opens the door, means to quickly slip into her room, but as she silently pulls it shut behind her, she collides head on with something hard. “Hey, what the hell-” Emma stops, mouth slightly agape. Her eyebrows furrow but the corners of her lips curl upwards. “Sorry,” she supplies, all but laughing. 

Regina can feel the blush creeping onto her cheeks, moves to hold the towel more securely. She clicks her tongue and brushes past, her shoulder tingling where it collides with Emma’s. “I’m a little busy, if you can’t tell.”

“You walked into _me_.”

“You shouldn’t have been standing there,” Regina bites back, leaning against the doorframe to her room. “But I have to say, Miss Swan, you still don’t seem to have moved.” 

As Emma’s ears burn and she opens her mouth to speak, it becomes Regina’s turn to smirk. “It’s almost as if you like what you see,” Regina says tauntingly, knowing she’s won, closing the door with a soft thud. 

It’s a full sixty seconds before Emma can move again.

*

If anyone had told her a few years back- hell, even a few months ago- that she’d be sharing sofas with the Charmings and squabbling over what to watch on TV, she’d have laughed in their face before frying them on the spot. She wasn’t entirely sure how her life came to be this way, and despite everything, she wasn’t entirely sure when she decided she liked it. 

It was a bittersweet domesticity. They stayed up late and joked around, but there was always a sense of danger underlying the happiness. Regina noticed how they watched her when they thought she wasn’t looking. As if waiting for her to keel over, collapse in a pool of blood. She couldn’t blame them, not really. Not knowing what they’d seen.

But for the past week, since the hospital incident, things hadn’t been too bad. She’d felt feeble, sure, but as if her strength was slowly coming back. Every now and again, the shower would run red or a cough would turn into something more, but she was used to it. It didn’t faze her as much as it first had. 

As the days passed, everyone started noticing small changes. Regina would make them tea without complaining, leave lasagne in the fridge for their return. (One time, there was even a note alongside it: “Try not to eat it all at once. Enjoy.”) She’d integrated herself into their lives, and if the circumstances were different, Snow’s heart would burst with joy.

It’s not until late one night, as Regina sits curled up on the sofa, a hot mug in one hand, that Snow confronts her. She sits next to her on the cushions- earning herself a pointed stare and eyebrow raise- before saying, “You’ve been feeling better lately, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose I have.”

Snow takes a deep breath. “Then you also know that it’s only because of what Blue did.”

Regina narrows her eyes. “Which was, what, exactly?”

“A preservation spell. On your blood. I know you didn’t miss the glowing purple tubes.”

“Oh, that,” she says, as though it’s hardly news. “I guess it wasn’t exactly the most important detail of that day.”

Wincing at the memory, Snow leans closer. “You see. It _worked_ , Regina. This means we can get through this. You can… you can get better.”

Regina stares into her cup, swirls the liquid until it almost sloshes over the edge. She doesn’t speak for a while, bites the inside of her cheek. “When could she start?”

“Tomorrow,” Snow says, so fast and enthusiastic that it’s almost as though she’s a young girl again. “She’ll come here. All you need to do is agree.”

“Okay.” It’s quiet, but it’s also enough to quell Snow’s worries- at least for now. 

But as she lies in the bed that isn’t hers, and stares up at the ceiling that doesn’t feel like home, she realises what’s been holding her back.

A deep-rooted, unquenchable fear.

*

When the morning comes, she’s feeling slightly groggy, weary after a night of hardly sleeping at all. She’d thought about it too much, gone over every way it could go wrong, and now she was desperate to get out of it. 

“I don’t think we should go through with this,” she says, leaning against the countertop to put the kettle on. 

Snow blanches. “But last night, you-” 

“Well, I’ve thought about it since then. This is ridiculous, trusting an old spell. What if it working was a one-off, the calm before the storm?”

“It wasn’t,” Snow presses, walking nearer. Regina refuses to look up, continues to stare at the bubbling water. She _needs_ this. In a way, she wants to be convinced again, knows that nothing else will work. But her mind is acting against every rational bone in her body. “ _Please_ , Regina. Or you’ll leave us no choice.”

Regina glances at David- he’s sitting on the sofa, now watching the scene intently- before throwing her gaze back to Snow. “What?” she scoffs. “You’ll _make_ me?” Her snarl is cruel, full of taunts and snide remarks. She feels like she’s taking a step back, ruining things for herself, but it’s as though she can’t stop it. She can’t end the defensiveness and words that sting like knives. 

But Snow just looks down, kicks an upturned corner of carpet. “If we have to.”

*

As it turns out, the Charmings didn’t need to follow through on their threat. Blue arrived seconds after it had left Snow’s lips, and as the shrill sound of the doorbell rang through the apartment, Regina’s decision was made.

“I’m not interrupting something, am I?” Blue says, looking from one face to the other. 

Snow glances back, as though waiting for her decision, so Regina smiles forcedly and although it comes out slightly bitter, says, “Not at all.”

It’s at this moment that Emma wanders into the room, munching away on a mouthful of doughnuts. “I heard the doorbell-” she says quizzically before stopping, frowning, and finally, grimacing. She swallows what remains of the snack and wipes her sugar-covered fingers on the back of her jeans. “Sorry.” She feels like she does this way too much. 

Regina steps out from behind the counter, takes a sip of her drink before placing it down. Her expression’s unreadable, still. “What next?” she says, and her voice doesn’t quaver once. “Is Robin going to come along too? Maybe Hook?”- Emma winces slightly at the mention of his name- “Ruby? Why don’t we just invite Grumpy and the rest of the dwarves?” From the corner of her eye, Regina sees the way Blue’s mouth drops open just a little- and she revels in it. 

Snow’s quick to move, grabbing David by the hand and pulling him to his feet. “You’re right,” she says. “It’s a lot. But doesn’t this say something? Doesn’t it show you how much people care?”

Regina flicks a strand of hair from her face and crosses one heel over the other. 

“Will you just lay down?” Blue says coolly, and Regina can tell she’s losing her patience. It takes every ounce of her being to keep her mouth closed.

She lowers herself onto the sofa- arms raised in mock defence, before folding them across her waist- and stares at the ceiling. Her jaw remains clenched, set. “What do you need me to do?” she sighs. 

Blue’s anger lessens as she stands over Regina’s body, pulling her wand from her jacket. Snow’s lingering just behind, Emma by her side, but David keeps a few feet back, and for that reason, Regina decides that she might just like him after all.

She feels suffocated, closed in, and can’t stand the way people have to look down to meet her gaze. The whole situation is humiliating. Degrading. Mortifying.

She closes her eyes tight before opening them again, and when she does, they’re hard as stone. “Well?” she hisses.

Blue smiles calmly and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s rather old fashioned, really.” With a flick of her wand, a white square cloth and rectangular bowl appear on the table. “Similar to old treatments that used to be found in this world.” 

Emma picks up the cloth and twiddles it around her thumb. “It’s just an ordinary rag,” she says. 

“For now,” Blue presses, “but it will be used to treat the wound before and after.”

Emma puts the cloth down, sits on the edge of the table. It feels sticky beneath her palm, and her mind flits back to the coffee she’d spilt yesterday, the way she’d half-heartedly wiped it up. Regina speaks again, sitting up slightly, voice prickly and- quite frankly- pissed off. “What wound?”

Blue can’t quite meet her eyes, breath light as she says, “The one that must be made.”

Regina flops back against the sofa, as though the whole situation is too stupid for her to handle. “Just get it over with.” 

Kneeling down beside the sofa, Blue grasps the cloth in one hand and encircles it with her wand. Small silver sparks fly from the tip, landing on the material like flecks of sand. They settle in the grooves, melt into the creases. She reaches forward and grabs Regina’s arm- Regina looks at her in disbelief before deciding to keep quiet- and wipes the cloth against her palm. It feels damp and rough, like dust and grime and rained upon mud. 

Twisting the wand so the tip is facing Regina’s skin, Blue drags it across her hand. Wherever the wand touches, a dim glow covers the area and the smell of metal fills the air. Regina grits her teeth slightly, the experience slow and more painful than it seems it should be.

When Blue finally withdraws her hand, Emma leans closer for a better look. There’s a cut across Regina’s palm, as though a sword had sliced her deeply. The edges are jagged and raw, and the mess beneath her skin is exposed. Blood begins to trickle from the gash, but Blue makes sure to catch it within the dish, moving Regina’s arm so that it doesn’t spill.

She grabs her wand once more and, muttering ancient words beneath her breath, casts a spell that causes the liquid to bubble. Once it’s over, she dips the cloth into the bowl and meets Regina’s gaze. “This is the bit that hurts,” she says. 

“Oh?” Regina raises an eyebrow. “I must have imagined the part where you sliced open my hand.”

Blue sighs and presses the cloth against the wound, now-enchanted blood seeping in. Regina winces slightly- a bead of sweat glistens on her brow- and Emma moves to grab her other hand. She doesn’t snatch it back, which Emma takes as a small victory, but neither does she pay it any attention. 

Snow looks on with sad eyes before turning to David, who is also watching the scene intensely. “It’s different,” he says, voice low. “But she brings something out in Emma that I don’t think we’ve ever seen.”

Being the only one to truly know Regina’s past, to have seen the person she was before darkness took over, Snow realises that perhaps he doesn’t quite understand when she whispers, “I think it works both ways.”

Because she sees the way Regina’s fingers loosen and her breathing slows, how her face softens and her eyes relax, once Emma takes her hand, and she _knows_.

She knows that this is terrifying and strange and so far from what anyone expects.

And she knows that this is real.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think there's only going to be 1 or 2 chapters left after this :)

When Blue finally sits back, hands in her lap, Regina leans forward with such a look of bewilderment and disbelief on her face that Emma has to fight a smile. 

“And you couldn’t have just taken a pinprick?” she snarls, glaring at how much blood remains in the bowl. 

Blue shrugs softly. “That’s not what the book says. Unfortunately, I don’t know the reasons why.”

“Right.” She slips her hand out of Emma’s and lightly traces the edges of the wound. It’s stopped bleeding, but is yet to close up. It’s a gash frozen in time, unsealed yet refusing to drip. Her veins turn to ice as she moves her wrist slightly, pain washing over her arm like a tidal wave. 

“Ah,” Blue says, grabbing a bandage. “Keep this wrapped around it for now.” She twists the material around the cut and ties it in a knot. “The pain will go shortly. It’ll close up on its own within a few hours.”

Regina yanks her hand back, scowling visibly, and stands, arm motionless against her stomach. “Thank you,” she says, but her voice is firm, as cold as the numbness in her veins.

Turning to Snow, Blue mutters something Regina can’t hear before heading for the door. “I’ll be back in two days,” she calls over her shoulder.

Emma looks at the expression on Regina’s face and grimaces. 

Two days. 

Then it all repeats again. 

*

The treatments leave her worn down, as though she hikes a mountain every day and sleeps on a bed of nails each night. Her joints ache and her bones feel close to shattering, making even the simplest of tasks a mission to fulfil. 

Blue visits multiple times, each one worse than the last. The wound must be sliced, cleansed, and then wrapped, over and over and over again. Regina wonders how she has any skin left, how the muscle hasn’t been torn right from the bone. 

But if there’s one thing to come from all of this, putting aside the obvious discontent in her arm, the pain is disintegrating, the poison seeping out of her cells. She _feels_ herself improving, even if it doesn’t seem that way. It’s a different kind of torture, having gashes made every two days, but at least she knows it doesn’t last forever. And no matter how much it hurts, it won’t kill her. 

She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, a book laid out across her lap, when there’s a light knock on the door. Three consecutive taps, then silence. 

She puts the book on the nearest cabinet, turns to throw her legs over the edge of the bed, then calls out, “Yes?”

Emma’s head peeps around the door. In her hands, she carries two cups of tea, and two bags of crisps are wedged beneath her arms. 

Regina frowns, smiling incredulously. “How on earth did you manage to knock?”

Emma grins and pushes the door shut with a small kick of her foot. “Let’s just say the carpet almost suffered a terrible fate.”

“Well, don’t just hover. Come in if you must,” she says, sitting back, feeling more at ease.

Emma doesn’t need to be told again. She leans down to put the cups on the side and throws the snacks in Regina’s direction. She manages to catch one, but the other whacks her rather indelicately on the head, and she scoffs lightly in indignation. 

“Thought you’d be able to catch,” Emma smirks. “Guess PE was never your strong suit?” She perches on the end of the bed, cross-legged in a way that mirrors Regina’s earlier position. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine. I suppose,” Regina says, with a slight tilt of her head. She picks at the bandage subconsciously. “I’m going out tomorrow. Only to the shops but… it’ll be nice to actually breathe some fresh air.”

Emma makes a sound of agreement, popping open a bag and shoving a handful of crisps into her mouth. “As long as you’re careful,” she shrugs. 

“Must you always talk while eating?”

“Must you always moan about everything I do?”

“Maybe.”

“Then maybe,” Emma smiles, wide and obnoxious. It’s nice, seeing Regina relaxed. The atmosphere is open and calm, as though a soft breeze would be enough to draw out anyone’s secrets. 

“I was thinking,” Regina says, and the statement is so loose-ended and uncertain that Emma’s hand stills in the air, pausing just above the bag’s opening. “And it dawned upon me that I’d been quite… foolish.” Her breath hitches in her throat. “How are things with Hook?”

Oh.

_Oh._

Emma squeezes her eyes tight and slaps a crumb-covered hand to her forehead. “Regina, I am so sorry. I should have told you sooner. God, no wonder you were so hesitant, I mean-”

“Spit it out, Emma,” Regina says, and though her words are sharp, her tone remains light. 

She uncovers her eyes and meets Regina’s gaze, implores earnestly: “It’s over.” Her expression drops a little as she says, “I ended it.”

“Ended it?” Regina’s eyebrows shoot up. “Poor Captain Guyliner.” Seeing the hurt in Emma’s eyes, she doesn’t take it any further; instead, breathes out, “But you loved him.”

“I did,” she says, a strand of hair falling from behind her ear. “But not enough.”

Regina stays silent, watches as Emma sniffs and sits back a little. 

“Taking on that darkness may have changed me, but it didn’t change how I feel. It just… helped me realise. Gave me the strength to admit what I didn’t want to.” 

There’s a pause.

“Admit that I didn’t love him like I loved you.”

*

“It’s working,” Blue declares, a smile on her face. She has her wand pointed at Regina’s palm, emitting a muted blue glow. It fades at the edge into a soft nothingness. 

Snow exhales loudly and grabs David’s hand. He pulls her close and kisses the top of her head, eyes closing in relief as Blue continues. “I can feel your auma improving.” 

Henry practically jumps into Regina’s arms. “You’re going to be okay?” he says, and although it’s more of a statement than a question, she answers anyway.

“I’m going to be okay.”

*

Regina heads to the supermarket during the early hours of the morning. She hasn’t been outside in a while, which means that the only time the townsfolk have seen her is during the blood-filled, hazy instances. 

The sky is just beginning to brighten, specks of blue chasing away the orange. Regina keeps her eyes to the floor, following the cracks in the pavement, only glancing up to cross a road or two. 

“Madame Mayor.” The voice makes her jump out of her skin. (That’s another thing she finds irritates her lately: how easily she startles.) Her gaze shoots up but it’s only Archie, gripping a dog lead and giving a friendly nod. 

She smiles a little and his grin widens, as though he’s finally achieved something big. She supposes he never thought he’d get one out of her. 

“How’ve you been?” he asks, coming to a halt. 

“Perfectly fine.” She crosses her arms in front of her waist, takes a breath. 

Archie’s smile drops at the edges, eyes drooping. “If you ever need to talk-”

“I know.” She doesn’t need the speech, can’t bear to hear his sympathy. 

He seems to understand. “Well, I’ll be going then. Have a good day.” And he’s off down the path, Pongo matching his footsteps.

When she walks through the supermarket doors, she instantly notices faces turning her way. Hushed whispers fill her ears and she pulls her black coat tighter to her body. Their words cloud her mind like water: rushing in, blocking out everything else. 

_Should she be out?_

_Did you hear what happened?_

_Good riddance, I say._

_She doesn’t look too great._

She grabs a basket and heads towards the frozen aisle, leaving behind the stares and fixed looks. Let them talk.

It’s only when she’s trying to get something from a high shelf that she realises how much her fingers are shaking. Not that it’s uncommon; no, in fact it’s far from. It’s just another side effect of the cure. Something she’s learnt to put up with. She assumes her nerves play a role in how prominent it is right now. 

As her fingers lock around a packet of chicken goujons, she withdraws her arm, but the shakiness of it all and her seeming lack of coordination causes the rest of the shelf to fall too. And as she jumps back a little and throws her arms up in irritation, her basket goes tumbling to the floor. 

“Great,” she mutters, bending down. She can practically feel the stares burning into the back of her head. “Just great.”

Someone kneels down in front of her, hands reaching out, already bundling an armful of stuff back into her basket. She looks up, curious as to who would bother coming over, and a small whimper escapes her throat. “Robin,” she whispers.

His hands stumble a little at the sound of her voice, and he moves to pick up what slipped through his fingers. “At your service.”

Brushing the dirt from the knees of his trousers, Robin stands and extends a hand. She considers not taking it, she really does, but in the end she sucks in a breath and places her palm within his. He pulls her gently into a standing position and hands over the basket, now full. 

Regina clears her throat and says, “I think we should talk. Do you want to come round mine for dinner?”

“With all due respect, I think I’d rather get this over with now.” There’s no malice in his voice, no anger.

Her eyes graze the floor. She counts thirteen tiles before speaking again. “I know that in another world, in another time, you were my,” she pauses, the word venom on her tongue, “soulmate. But, I can’t do this to you. I don’t- I don’t love you the way you deserve.”

He doesn’t seem shocked, takes the statement gracefully, has expected it to come for a long while. “It’s Emma, isn’t it?” he finally asks.

She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t need to. Her face says everything. If it wasn’t him, and if they hadn’t been through so much, she may have denied the accusation and criticised him for even thinking that way. But it is and they have, so she stays silent, eventually settling with a small but sincere: “I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” he says, voice weighted with a hundred sorrows, a thousand words best left unsaid. His eyes shine as he bites his bottom lip and smiles, pained yet honest, hurt but true. His irises swim as a sad acceptance buds within his core. “I _do_ love you.”

Regina leans forwards and presses a kiss to his cheek. “You can let me go,” she whispers.

*

Regina huffs in frustration, slamming her phone against the table. It vibrates and spins a little before falling still. She presses a finger into the corner of her eye, cheek resting in her palm, and sighs.

“What’s up?” Emma asks from the opposite chair, eyeing her warily. She sees the way her fingers shake, despite how hard she digs them into her skin, and can feel the tension rolling off Regina in waves.

“I can’t do anything,” Regina says, speaking through the lump in her throat. “I bumped into Robin at the supermarket yesterday.” She pauses, mind somewhere else. “He helped me. Picked up everything I’d managed to knock onto the floor.”

Emma’s expression softens as she moves to sit next to her. She touches her hand gently, as if to remind her that she’s always here. “That’s not your fault,” she says. 

“No, it isn’t. It’s _hers_.” She takes a moment to catch her breath. When she speaks again, it’s like a chorus of snakes. “And she can stay locked up forever for all I care. Family or not.”

“Family isn’t determined by blood. You know that better than any of us.”

“I suppose not. But it doesn’t change the fact that this spell- this cure,” she spits the word out like poison, “it’s ruining my life.”

Emma turns to face her more directly, shuffles just enough to comfortably take her hands. “For now,” she insists, “but it’ll be worth it.”

Regina looks up from her palms and blows out a rattled breath, turns her head slightly to flick a strand of hair from her face. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she smiles.

*

It’s a Monday morning. The sun filters through the curtains, dust visible in the air. The smell of grass drifts into the apartment, filling every crevice. And a pain that hasn’t been felt for so long returns home. 

It embraces her tightly, like a lost child or cold winter chill. She was never one for muted entrances, and it seems that the pain, after becoming a part of her, picked up on some of her habits. It’s less violent this time, more constricting. Like it’s always been there, but chose now to make itself known.

Regina calls out to David, who is the only one home, ignoring how her mouth tastes like metal and her eyes water and burn. He comes running in, phone in hand, to find her leant against the kitchen countertop. She’s clutching her stomach as saliva forms at the edges of her mouth. She wants to wipe it away, reach for a tissue- _anything_. But she can’t move her hands away. 

And then she coughs, so brutally and painfully that David almost can’t bear to look. With a small grunt, she doubles over, nearly falling to the ground. He catches her beneath her arms and guides her to the sofa, legs drifting above the floor like a ghost. And as her mind reels and her surroundings seem timeless, she thinks to herself that maybe she’s already dead. 

Perhaps she wouldn't even mind anymore. 

“It’ll be alright,” David says, and she almost laughs. Prince Charming, husband of the girl she’d tried to kill so many times, comforting her, helping her. A wave of guilt rushes over her and she feels herself drowning in it, all the taunts and threats she’d once said lodging themselves in her throat, restricting her airways until breathing seems like a feat long forgotten. 

Everything’s hazy for a while. She hears David talking, can’t work out whether it’s to her or down the phone. Maybe it’s both, she decides.

But then the door’s crashing open and Emma and Snow are running in, Henry’s worried voice trailing behind them. She can’t open her eyes but can tell by the cracks in their sentences, and the words that drip with fear, and the quiet sound of sniffling that it’s only going to get worse. 

She doesn’t know how much time passes, but soon she can hear Blue’s voice, and the anger that burns inside of her finally allows her to open her eyes. “What is this?” 

Blue shakes her head and stares down at Regina with pity, as though she wishes she could wind back the clock and help the girl who’d called for help so many years ago. 

As if it could change anything.

“You said it would work,” she growls, voice full of sadness and desperation. “You said I was getting better.” It’s almost pathetic how unthreatening she sounds.

“I couldn’t know this would happen,” Blue says, and for the first time in Regina’s life, the fairy sounds close to tears. “I couldn’t know you’d relapse.”

Regina coughs again, clothing and sofa and carpet stained red. No one can stand the sight of it, yet no one can look away. Henry grabs her hand and she can feel the tears that fall onto her skin, warm and wet, keeping her grounded. 

“Don’t leave me,” he sobs, face against her chest. She moves a hand to clutch his hair, but it’s feeble and weak and falls down straight away.

Voices grow muffled. She can hear Snow’s weeping, Emma’s demands that she stay, that she dare not leave her. But she can’t respond. 

Her bones ache as though they’re crumbling into dust, splitting apart and fracturing into the elements they once were. Her eyes close for the last time- fluttering shut, finally able to rest- but all she can think about is how the pain is gone.

People won’t remember her as the Evil Queen, as the monarch who once terrorised lands. They’ll remember her as Regina- the mother, the gentle soul, the one who lost much.

And they’ll say, let her be stardust. Maybe that’ll finally feel like home.


	9. Chapter 9

Emma stares at the sofa, at the blood, at Regina. She can’t breathe, think, move. There’s water in her mind, glass in her heart. A thousand stinging beetles running laps over her skin. 

She leans forward, picks up Regina’s hand. It’s cold. Colder than it’s ever felt. There’s no movement or warmth, no sign of life. Her knees buckle beneath her, like a building collapsing, the final piece set to detonate. She feels a pressure on her brain and tears streaming down her face: never-ending, all-consuming. 

But then something changes, and as the last whole piece of her heart fractures, it tips her over the edge, sends her to a place she never wanted to go. It’s an insanity, and it’s damaging, but it’s too late, too much, yet not enough. 

Loss turns her soul dark. 

She thinks she feels a hand on her shoulder, wants to shrug it away. But still she can’t move. She’s not in control of her actions, running purely on instinct. All she can think of is the hand locked in hers, lithe and deathly and… still. 

“Henry,” she mutters, and for a moment, he’s all she can think about. Poor, innocent Henry, who’s been through far too much. Henry, who saved them all and never gave up once. Henry, who’s now lost a father and a mother. 

Her head drops to the floor. She can’t register anything else, doesn’t know who’s talking anymore. Her fingers itch and her arms crawl and she can _smell_ the blood and _hear_ the silence. 

It becomes unbearable. 

*  
She doesn’t know how she ends up with one hand wrapped around Blue’s throat and the other in her chest, but the moment she realises it’s happening, her brain tries to retaliate, mind attempts to withdraw. Yet her fist only squeezes tighter and Blue’s breath almost disappears entirely, until David’s running in, walkie-talkie in hand, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. 

She’s never seen him so frightened.

She doesn’t care. 

The heart’s pulled from Blue’s chest before he can take another step. It crumbles into dust.

*  
Emma looks out at the water. It laps against the shore, covers the sand. Large waves roll over one another, an endless storm, as they crash into jagged rocks and tear across the ground. The sky is dark, lightning flashing every few seconds, and black clouds billow overhead. In the distance, she can almost hear the faint sound of rain, and she knows that soon it will reach her. She awaits its arrival with joy. 

If she truly focuses, amongst the soft beating of the tide and the piercing screams of gulls, she thinks she can hear Regina’s voice. Hear it calling to her, whispering her name like a siren’s call. She tries to block out the rest of the world, concentrate on nothing but the way Regina beckons her closer, persuades her to come. Take a swim. _Join her._

Before she knows what’s happening, she feels a coolness around her ankles, spreading upwards like a rash. Water seeps into the bottom of her jeans, weighing her down. Her shoes are heavy and slowly pulling away. As she walks further, towards the rolling sky and bleak horizon, she closes her eyes. She can still hear her name being called. And she can’t let go of it. 

She can’t let go of what’s already lost. 

“Emma!” This time the voice is different. It’s shrill and demanding and fearful. She stops in her tracks, the sudden change in movement allowing the waves to come crashing down against her back. Her clothes are soaked, clinging to her skin, and she wants nothing more than to be rid of them. 

Her eyes fly open, dark and challenging. There’s barely any light left. 

“Emma,” Snow breathes again, standing at the shore. Her face is tired, but Emma knows that if it came to it, she’d jump in the water and drag her out right now. She’d give her life to pull her back. “Please.” Her hand reaches out, signalling her closer. 

Emma shakes her head slowly, the edges of her mouth curling up. “Why?” 

“This isn’t you. We can- we can fix this. I promise you, Emma, we will help you.”

“Like you did for the first 28 years of my life?”

It stings Snow like a slap to the face. She doesn’t try to explain herself; there’s no time for that anymore. “I’m sorry. If I could take it back, redo it… but I can’t. I can’t, Emma.” It’s raw and barely audible above the ocean sounds. Thunder claps above them, as though enjoying the scene. 

Emma swallows, runs her hand through the water. She recollects a time she’d done the same thing to Regina’s hair, lost in the moment, and all the times she’d thought about doing it years before. “No,” she says, and this time it’s softer, lost. “You can’t.”

Stepping nearer, water edging up to her ankles, Snow pleads, “What about Henry?”

Her fist snaps shut, nails digging into skin. She doesn’t want to think about him, doesn’t want to think about how she’s letting him down again. But at the same time, something inside of her tells her not to care. There’s a voice inside her head, never resting, and it takes everything she is to resist it.

Sometimes even that’s not enough. 

She takes a breath in and reappears behind Snow. Her clothes drip onto the sand, like tears against a book. She hadn’t bothered to dry herself off. “I did this to save her,” she says.

Snow edges closer. “I know.” 

“And she died anyway.” The words are like grit in her mouth. 

“I know,” Snow says, and despite all the possible things that could have happened, she throws her arms around her neck and pulls her close, letting Emma’s head rest on her shoulder. “Come home.”

The rain finally starts to fall.

*

As she sits facing her parents, leg jostling unconsciously, the shrill sound of the kettle fills the room. 

“I’ll get it,” Snow chirps- anything to move away from the silence and unresponsive stares. It’s so hard to look at her daughter and know that there were so many things that could have stopped this. So many mistakes that she shouldn’t have made. 

“Emma,” David starts, but is quickly cut off. 

“I didn’t mean to.” The words hang heavily in the air, like lead weights attached to rope. “She was dead and all I could think about was how Blue had said she was getting better, and I had- I had hope that things might… be different.”

David opens his mouth to speak but she leans forward so earnestly that he instantly quietens, lets her talk. “Sometimes it’s like I’m not in control. I couldn’t stop myself. I barely knew it was happening. And sometimes I think I can hear her voice.” She motions to her ear, finger trembling. “Why?” she hisses.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, David reaches across the table to grab one of her hands. “Because you did a brave thing,” he says. “Brave and selfless and noble, but-”

“But I killed someone?” 

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you were thinking it, right?” She snatches her hand back so fast he almost falls forward into the table. And then she’s standing, looking from one parent to the other, a cruel taunt on her face. “Because you guys haven’t done awful things in the past?”

Snow comes to join them, leaving the three mugs in her wake. “Emma, sweetie, we aren’t perfect. We know that and we’re sorry. But we love you and we’re going to-”

“You’re going to- what? _Help_ me?” Snow doesn’t move an inch, as if all of her muscles are frozen, locked into place. The room feels different and she knows that something’s changed, that Emma’s retreated back into her shell, the darkness pushing itself to the surface. “You couldn’t help me if you tried.”

*

The funeral’s held at noon. David’s not sure he’s surprised at the low turnout, but it causes an ache in his chest nonetheless. She deserved more than this and if he could hand her the world, he thinks that perhaps he would. And if he didn’t, Snow would seize the opportunity without a second thought. 

The phrase resounds through his brain again, over and over. A broken record, a stuttering machine. 

_She deserved better._

He looks around at the faces surrounding him. Granny, Rumple, Belle- he has to hand it to her; she is brutally kind, and a better person than he’ll ever be- Archie, Robin, Snow and Henry, who is gripping his hand so tight, as though he’s five years younger. He tries to be brave, hide his cries, but in the end the sadness wins over and he buries his face in Snow’s jacket and sobs until his tears run dry. 

It’s an awful sight. A sickening, heart-wrenching, diabolical thing to witness. His wife and grandson, falling apart before him, as all he can do is stand and watch. 

Stand and watch as life crumbles and the truest believer stops believing. 

Emma’s not here. He hasn’t seen her since yesterday, where she’d left in a flurry of rage and accusations. Accusations that were shatteringly true. He doesn’t dare to deny them. 

And then it’s his turn to speak. He looks from the coffin to the hole in the ground, can’t bear to think of her lying there. Unmoving. Buried. Hidden beneath mounds of dirt. 

His throat closes up. He’s given so many speeches, motivated countless people. But when it comes to this, to her, he doesn’t know what to say. Snow’s hand tightens around his. “I think we can all agree that Regina, she… she wasn’t who we thought we knew. And in hindsight, we knew so little. And I think that she’d be happy to know that you turned up. Even if she’d never say it, she wouldn’t have expected anyone, let alone…” His eyes flicker to Belle. “She’d be grateful.”

He hears a choked sob from his side, but when he turns to pull his wife closer, she’s smiling. It’s wet and broken, but the faint ghost of humour plays at the edges of her lips. “And if she ever heard us saying any of this, she’d kill us on the spot,” she sniffs. 

Although it could be a trick of the light, a reflection of the hazy sun, David swears he sees Rumple’s eyes film over. And as he scans the crowd, a lightness settles in his stomach as he realises that in this moment, no one holds Regina to anything. No one blames her anymore. 

She’s free. 

It’s quiet for a while, no one moving except to wipe at their eyes or grip a hand more strongly. David sighs and kisses the top of Snow’s head. “It’s time,” he whispers, and he feels her nod beneath his chin. 

“I know.”

David moves over to Archie, leans forward to mutter something, and then the coffin’s being hoisted up. It hovers above the hole in the ground momentarily, and then it’s being lowered. Henry runs to the edge, sinks to his knees. He pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket, crumpled and torn.

But then there’s a flash of green and the coffin is immobilised. Heads turn to see Emma stalking towards them, hand outstretched. She curls her fist tight as it drops to her side. “Is this it?” she says. 

David stares in shock at the girl before him. Somehow she looks worse than she did before. The smile on her face and the heavily applied makeup only emphasise how wrong it all is.

“Sweetie, where have you been?” Snow says. 

“Oh, just making the rounds. Visiting a few people. Taking a walk.” 

Snow’s eyes close. “What have you done?”

“Me? I’ve done nothing. Perhaps it’s those still in town you should be questioning. This isn’t much of a funeral, is it?” She scrutinises the crowd, picks them apart one by one. Most keep their eyes averted, but Granny steps forward, face set. 

“Why don’t you get out of here, girl? Pay your respects or leave.”

“Ouch. So the wolf does bite after all.”

“Don’t test me.”

Emma clasps her hands together and almost jumps on the spot. She leans forward and her voice is taunting as she drawls, “Why don’t we play a little game? Fetch.” Then Granny’s thrown backwards, landing only a few metres away, but enough to get the message across. 

“Emma, this isn’t you,” Belle says, remaining by Rumple’s side. “Trust me. I'd know.” Her smile is warm and embracing. There's nothing but truth in her words.

“Because of your little fling? Just how _did_ it feel being his pet?”

Belle’s expression doesn’t change. The insults don’t work. “You’re still in there somewhere. If you just-”

“Enough!”

Rumple places a hand on her arm instinctively, a warning that she’s come far enough. She stays silent this time, gives in.

“She saved all of you,” Emma snarls. “Every single one of your pathetic lives. She saved them.”

“We know,” David says. “That’s why-”

“That’s why nothing! There’s- what?- eight people here? Doesn’t feel like a town to me.”

“Not everyone can let go of the past.” His voice is low, as though he doesn’t like admitting it himself. 

Emma chews on her bottom lip before pressing a hand to her forehead. She paces a little, torn between what to do. She flings an arm in Archie’s direction. “Leave the coffin.”

“Emma?”

“I said leave the coffin.” There’s no room for argument. He steps away. 

It’s then that she notices Henry. He’s stayed quiet, picking at the piece of paper he still holds so tightly, eyes wide with fright and red from sadness. She takes a step towards him. He takes one back in equal measure. 

A lump forms in her throat.

“Henry, go with Mary Margaret,” she whispers, voice raw. 

He doesn’t move.

“Henry, _please_.” There’s a slight crack on the final word and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Henry moves towards Snow, but not before stepping forward and stretching his hand out. Emma takes the paper from him, unfolding it carefully, and as her eyes scan the page, a single tear makes its way down her cheek. 

When Henry looks back, both Emma and the coffin are gone. 

*

She’s been sitting in Regina’s vault for the past three hours. Every now and again, a noise creaks from above and she jumps at the sound. In the wind and the whispering of the trees, she pictures Regina’s voice again. It’s all around her- there’s no escaping it- and she wonders for a second whether people ever truly die. 

But as she looks around her at the untouched possessions and dust-coated surfaces, she realises that she’s more alone than she’s ever been, and for a split second, she’s coherent enough to question her thoughts and surroundings, and to feel fear at the insanity that consumes her. 

It doesn’t last long. 

Her eyes stop at a white, burnt out candle, shut away behind glass. She’s instantly upright, smashing the casing and drawing the object into her palms. She cradles it as though it holds the key to her happiness. Perhaps, in a strange way, it does.

Her vision shifts to the coffin, resting atop a marble platform. She waves a hand, enacting a preservation spell, and leans against it. It seems to hum beneath her touch. The candle can’t be used; it’s time is gone. She knows that. But it gives her something else, something she never thought she’d have again. _Hope._

She grabs whatever books she can find, tearing them from the shelves, flicking through their pages. She sits on the floor, back leant against the platform, rips a page out every now and again and places it in a pile to her side. She looks for anything she can. Anything that even hints towards a means to get what she wants.

She’s so occupied by her search that she doesn’t register the door opening or the light footsteps that come her way. Snow’s mouth opens at the sight and she exhales as though she can’t take the pain any longer. She picks up a leaf of paper by her feet and uncurls the edges, fingers shaking slightly as she takes it in.

It’s a drawing. One of Henry’s; she can tell. His neat handwriting flows across the top of the page, dotted here and there with fallen tears. 

Emma, Regina and Henry stare back at her, a family unit, smiling and alive.

She lets it float back to the ground like a feather in the wind.

“Emma, honey,” Snow says, arms raised in a gesture of peace. “What are you doing?”

When she looks up, her eyes are rimmed red and her smile is so full of insanity and despair that Snow’s eyes sting and her heart turns to ice. 

“I’m bringing her back.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who commented or gave kudos throughout this fic. It's actually the longest one I've ever posted so I'm really pleased to see that you all enjoyed it. Sorry this final chapter took longer than the others, and sorry it's rather short, but I've been so busy lately! Thanks again :)

Ever since that treacherous, torturous day, in which Regina took her final breath and the heavens accepted her grace, the air in Storybrooke has felt colder. The wind feels different, lonelier somehow, and the grass no longer sways and bristles. 

Emma often wonders whether it’s her, whether she’s the one who’s changed. The one who just can’t bear to think of a world alive while the person she loves lies so still. Why should everything else keep moving? Why should everything else continue so absentmindedly, as though Regina had never walked the earth at all? Maybe it shouldn’t. And so maybe that’s why it no longer does. 

She sits on a bench at the docks, remembers a time Regina once sat mere feet away. She closes her eyes in shame. They argued for so long over so much, both delivering low blows and spiteful threats, and yet they came further with each other than they had with anybody else. They helped each other in ways no one else ever could. 

The footsteps are heard long before she knows who they belong to. They crunch heavily against the frosted ground. Emma doesn’t open her eyes when the bench creaks, nor when a hand reaches out to touch her shoulder. She stays solid, flecks of snow catching in her lashes, as the wind whips against her cheek. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Belle says. “Looking for a way to… to bring her back.”

Turning sharply to face her, Emma licks her lips and cocks her head to the side. Belle pulls her hand back. “And why would you help?”

“Because I can see what it’s doing to you. And because I know what it’s like to be touched by darkness, to have it consume you.” She brushes a strand of hair from her face, tucks it behind one ear. “To be honest, I’ve seen it more than I’d like.”

“I don’t need your help,” Emma says, almost softly, returning her gaze to the sea. 

Belle swiftly knocks a growing collection of snow from her skirt and nods solemnly. “Okay.”

But as she stands to leave, a hand shoots out, gripping her palm so tightly that she daren’t move. Emma looks up at her, eyes pleading, and for the first time in weeks, her humanity has never shone so brightly. There’s a madness there and a call for help, a silent scream of sorrow. “Did you- did you find something? Is that why you came here? Did you find… find a way to do it?”

Belle looks down at where their hands interlock and Emma immediately withdraws. For a moment, she worries that she’s made a mistake, that Belle will never tell her now. That she’s screwed it up again. “I’m sorry,” she breathes. “It’s been so long. It’s been… so long.”

“I know,” Belle says. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“What are you not telling me?” The question isn’t angry; there’s no threat or rage or suspicion. Just sadness and fear and something that is so close to giving up.

Belle looks out at a passing ship as she says, “Henry asked for my help.” Emma stares at her lap, eyes like glass. She has difficulty breathing, can feel the cool air in her throat. “It’s been four months, Emma. He needs you.”

“I’d never do anything to hurt him,” Emma says, now standing directly in front of her. “I’m bringing his _mother_ back. I see him regularly, I make sure he’s alright. Shit, I even make sure he’s keeping up with school.”

“I never said that,” Belle says, voice quiet. “But he can see that it’s eating away at you, Emma. The whole town can see it. People are scared to talk to you.”

She backs down a little, clenches a fist at her side. “You’re talking to me.”

“I suppose a little darkness doesn’t frighten me anymore,” Belle says. And then she digs into her pocket and pulls out a folded sheet. She leans forward and grabs Emma’s hand, shoving it into her palm. “Take it from a friend: make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.” 

As Belle walks away, arms crossed over her waist and head held high, Emma sinks back down onto the bench and stares at what could be the answer to it all. 

*

That night, Emma leans against the wall of Regina’s vault. She stares at the open coffin and exhales. Covering her face with her palms, she presses her fingers into the corners of her eyes, adamant that no tears will fall. 

She pushes off the surface and paces the room, fingers trembling. She pulls the sheet of paper from her pocket and holds it tight. It’s been opened and closed so many times already, the creases are wearing thin. Small tears line the edges of the page. 

With a grunt of frustration, she throws it to the floor before falling to her knees. Her limbs feel numb as she picks it back up and silently shuts it in a nearby drawer. She doesn’t know what to do. Can’t think rationally, can’t make sense of what’s right and what’s wrong. 

The darkness sings to her like a siren’s song.

*

She turns up at her parents’ doorstep at precisely four o’clock in the morning. David’s the one to answer, hair a mess and eyes half-closed, but the minute he sees her, he’s beckoning- almost begging- for her to come inside. 

Shaking her head, she motions to his coat, dejectedly hanging from a peg on the wall. “Why don’t we take a walk?” she says. He can’t say no to her. 

They go into the forest. She doesn’t fear much anymore, least of all the silence of a frozen night. Trees tower over them, protecting their secrets, concealing what needs to be hidden. They walk slowly. David’s hooked an arm in hers and she’s too wrapped up to care. He doesn’t speak, waits for her to make the first move. 

“If Mary Margaret died, but you knew a way to bring her back, could you do it?”

He stares at her, frowning gently. “I’d do anything for her.”

“Even if it meant hurting someone else?” 

David looks away, stares up at the night sky. A moment passes as he counts the stars above his head. “What have you found?”

“I need you to make Mom understand. I need you to make her see that… I have no choice. I- I have to do it.”

He stops walking and all movement in the forest seems to cease. “There’s always a choice.”

Emma’s bottom lip quivers as she says, “Not this time.”

*

She’s not sure how she convinces him to meet her there. It all feels wrong, from the minute she puts down the phone to this very second, where Hook stares at her from the entrance to the vault. He loves her too much, looks at her as though he’d end the universe to see her just one time. And the tragic truth is that his love and his loyalty is what defeats him in the end.

She can’t look him in the eyes, flicks a wrist to invite him in. He takes tentative steps, as though the slightest of sounds will scare her off, and his eyes flit about the room nervously. They finally rest on Regina’s body: coffin still open, the edges of the spell glimmering faintly. “Why am I here?” he says, but something in his voice tells her that he already knows.

Unable to respond, she steps closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. He buries his nose in her hair and she feels the way his muscles tighten beneath her, scared to embrace her, as though she’d crumble to dust if he squeezed too hard. 

“Why am I here?” he repeats, gruffly and pained. His arms drop from her back to his sides. 

She pulls away and looks into his eyes, feels a knot in her stomach and a lump in her throat. “Close your eyes,” she whispers, so close to his face that he can feel her breath against his cheek. He doesn’t know why, but he listens. 

And then her hand is in his chest, and his heart is in her hand. His eyes don’t open in time, and so when his body falls to the floor, one hand thrown over his stomach, he almost looks peaceful.

She drifts to the coffin, removes the spell and draws the slip of paper from her pocket once again. Belle had warned her, but Emma already knew what she was getting into, and she already knew just how far she was willing to go. To sacrifice the life of someone who loved her so openly, with a love that was achingly unrequited, was just something she’d have to learn to live with.

She turns to Regina’s still body, grabs her hand and holds it close. She presses Hook’s heart into Regina’s palm and using her own strength, crumbles it to dust. She waits, and she waits a moment longer. Wills Regina’s eyes to open, wants nothing more than to hear her sharp intake of breath.

Each second that she waits produces more tears, chips at what’s left of her darkened, blackened heart. She feels herself sinking and she very nearly gives up, lets it take her, but then Regina gasps like she’s never known what air is, like it’s something foreign and strange and like there’s never going to be enough. 

Slightly dazed, Regina presses a hand against Emma’s cheek, and looks up at her so lovingly that Emma feels as though she might burst. “What did you do?” Regina whispers.

Emma’s face drops. She leans back on her heels and her hands shake more violently. She’s not sure she’s ever cried so much in her life. “I brought you back,” she says, voice no more than a croak. “I did it.”

Pushing herself up, ignoring Emma’s protests, Regina catches sight of Hook on the ground, of the dust that lies scatters beside his head. His eyes are closed, lips parted. For a moment, she swears her heart stops once more. 

Emma’s eyes follow her gaze. She breathes out before dropping to her knees, brushing Hook’s hair from his face, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

She repeats the words over and over, the reality of the past few months crashing down against her. She remembers the old stories of Atlas, the Greek titan who held the sky, and oh, how she pities him. The weight bearing down on her shoulders right now is enough.

She feels Regina behind her, knelt down on the floor at her back, and leans into her embrace. “I’ve done terrible things,” she says. 

Regina swallows hard and holds her tighter. “I don’t care.”

“I’m not who I was when you left.” She’s shaking, full of guilt and anguish.

Regina takes a deep breath in.

“It changes nothing.”

_The End._


End file.
